Pattern poem
I walked home from work
Down Claude Road and across
The street, I could hear him talking
Aloud to his little daughter and saying
How sad you conformists are with your
Patterned lives. It was plainly obvious that
He meant me. But it wasn’t so long ago that I
Had had long hair and never shaved and talked
About how sad conformists were with their patterned
Lives. But I saw that this was a more pernicious form of
Slavery because it masqueraded under some illusion of freedom.
Page(s) 66
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