A slice
of pink Milford granite
serving as a coaster

on a small dark desk
several decades old at the least
which serves as an end table

next to a ratty couch
that serves sometimes
as a bed

A man
who serves sometimes
as a pain in the ass

a scapegoat and
a glory hound
sits on the couch

He is half-listening to
a huge television which serves
as teat and manacle

A question remains
as to whether or not
he will ever emerge full grown

from this apartment
he claims is serving
as his cocoon

to serve
as the thing
he was meant to be

some kind of man
uniquely his own being
resistant

to being repurposed
by anyone except
himself

An unwrapped man
serving as
object lesson

by being of total service
to others
without bending his knee

A wave inside says
punch
maybe even stab
so often that 
each fresh anger’s become
just another cobweb
to brush aside

They’re piling up into
quite a gray heap
in a corner
You recall hearing 
that if applied swiftly
they can clot a wound

You start looking
for a wound to stanch
Finding none
you make one
and toss your rage onto it
like a dirty blanket

Your last thought is
that you must be
doing it wrong