Sir Bedevere

He stands sentinel,

cord of life coiled

around his back,

attachments tethered

to his frame:

weapons

against dust, dirt

and hair of the dog.

He never gets a

night on the town,

just endless tours

of this same fortress,

making his rounds,

picking up crumbs

and things others

dropped.

Standing silently,

he roars to life

with the push

of a button

once the connection

is electric

within him.

His critics

say he sucks.

Alas, Sir Bedevere

you may not stroll

through the forest

or near a lake or river.

No mountain hikes

for you, for

Nature abhors a vacuum.

From the Voices in Minor Facebook group