the call of the wild
does not call you.
you have no desire
to camp
or hunt, or fish,
or climb
icy mountains. there is
not a bone
in your body
that wants to skin
an animal,
chop wood and build a fire.
you would not have survived
the Mayflower,
staring out the port hole,
asking continually,
are we there yet,
or traveling
across the continent
in a covered wagon
dodging flaming arrows
by disgruntled native
americans.
you've realized your limitations.
yours revolves
around a bed
and room service, a mint
on your pillow
before turning in.
a complimentary robe
and wi fi.
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