There is an unyielding natural force
that keeps one’s feet on the ground
and one’s pencil rolling on one’s desk
in lieu of floating out one’s window
And it is a boon and a quality
and a reasonable necessity in these days

But yours is an unnecessary gravity,
a stress and a stretch and an
erroneous sort of thing, and it seems
but a weight to drag one down
rather than a hook to keep one grounded

And though I feel your less-than-sublte pressures,
There is one grace that saves me from their hold:
Newton’s may be a law,
but yours is just a caveat