A son she has who travels many miles
across the globe, but never leaves the house.
His legs, unused to serious ambulation,
are tucked below his chair of daily tenure,
for hours elicited from every day,
to exercise that one limb he possesses
and values most. And on that limb, a digit
flexible to click and guide a mouse,
to take him to undreamt-of destinations.
How many times she’s wished he’d emulate
that profligate of parabolic fame,
who boldly begged his hoped for heritage.
Take off into a world of disrepute,
and sow wild oats, reduced to in extremis,
return in chastened mood, and wise. Alas!
He took the gravy train to virtuality
and landed legless far from real reality.