I feel trapped in my old life
Like a hermit crab that won’t abandon its shell
It is so curled
Into its whorl of habits.
The seashore wails and wails
Its single, filial demand—
Repetitious as a herd of commodities brokers
Shouting in their calico patchwork of blazers
Until the final bell.
How can I change if the sea won’t?
My yearning stands straight out like a flag, same as ever.
Beaten brown and soft as a drenched felt hat,
Fits itself alluringly
To the rocks,
Adapting crash by crash by crash.