Tied Up And Down And Out

It’s late again.

I’m home again,

alone again,

and again, in these dark hours,

with a light beer in my hand,

I look around

this cold little room

in this old little house,

and I wonder,

is this all I should expect?

Is this as good as it will ever be?

To be bound here,

to a place

a role, and a person,

by duty, obligation,

and expectation?

To be tied up, or down,

together, forever,

whether or not that knot,

keeps me safely anchored,

or merely in my place?

And then I look around again,

and, in the window,

against the dark of night,

I see the weak little thing

that holds me here,

right where

I deserve to be.