Great Fugitives of Flat 4B

They swore they’d renounce all the chores and the rent,
And live off the land in a waterproof tent.
They packed up their rucksacks with dramatic flair,
Cursing the dishes and city-choked air.
"Farewell to the rat race! We’re heading out west!"
(Though 'west' meant whichever direction seemed best).

They marched out the doorway, rebellious and proud,
Away from the sirens, the bills, and the crowd.
They bolted like bandits pursuing a dream,
United in mutiny, fueled by steam!
No tyrant could track them, no collar could bind
The radical freedom they set out to find!

...Yet when the police (namely, Mom) checked the trail,
Expecting a crisis of epic detail,
She found that the outlaws had ended their roam
Before they had cleared the periphery home.
For running away takes an awful lot out
Of two tiny legs full of righteous self-doubt.

They didn’t flee far—just thirty-two feet,
Curled up by the trash cans just off of the street.
Fast asleep in the shrubbery, snoring with glee,
One clutching a teddy, one clutching a brie,
Defeating the wild with their eyes shut so tight,
A daring two yards from the patio light.