There was a beast who was not me
Who I observed carefully from the inside,
A middle-class white American sort
Of beast who had trouble staying
Middle class. He had no respect
For money. Spent too much, ate too much,
Drank too much, especially profligate
With tipping, condiments, Diet Coke,
Road trips, vitamins, books, and beer.
I paid close attention to the ways
In which he differed from true, noted
How secretive and eccentric his habits
Compared to the rules of the rest
Of his kind, although the rest, it seemed
To me, had difficulties being the rest.
I remonstrated with him, time to time,
But to no apparent effect, and I mused
On how the day is longer than the night
Even at the equator, seven stolen minutes
When the sun is down but still looks up
Thanks to refraction before twilight,
And I looked at the way this beast stole
Extra light at the edges of his beastly life,
And what the hell, I let him be myself.