Just Like You and Me.

He dreams absurd stories while snoring.

Wakes with bad breath and his pyjamas askew.

Pulls on his pants one leg at a time.

Nudges his car with four wheels in a queue with all the morning traffic.

Has no idea how his accelerator works.

Sings the wrong lyrics out of tune to the breakfast radio station.

Remembers he forgot his sister-in-law’s birthday.

Pulls into his reserved parking bay, turns off the ignition, and passes wind.

Just like you and me.

Except for the reserved parking bay.

And that for the next eight hours we who also snore and fart will defer to his every utterance and crave his favour and basically lie about how we truly think and feel and desire and allow ourselves and our families to soar or sink on his judgement of us.

All because another who crawls along in the morning traffic and brushes their teeth made him the boss.