A humble statistician
sets up shop in the park,
thinking the squirrels
may cheer him up
after a morning of nothing more
than menial chores, dross
that bogged him down
and had him contemplating
a life worth living–ultimately
outside of his house (or,
heaven forbid, the office).
At this point in his life, he views
work and domestic activities
to be more or less equally disturbing,
yet chooses to continue both
as a way of channelling the great
collective misery and rooting him
firmly to the soil he honestly wishes
would give way and swallow him up.