Maybe one day I'll live their fantasy

Posted upon the office wall is this picture.
And each day I look at it
I wonder, why?
Each time looking for new meaning
But he just stares back
Stubbornly saying nothing
While she dances
A dance of death?
Some days I emphasize with the minotaur
Stuck in a bleak place while
Freer spirits twirl and parade around me
And some days I feel like the dancer
Joyous and light and bounding
Through a fading wreathed world of colours
Killed by chemicals
With the light far off and blocked
By blind idiots.
I often think of the minotaur and the ballerina
In everyday life.
I imagine the two shopping for food;
He mechanically hauling the basket through the shop
As she flits from fruit to fruit squeezing as she goes
So full of emotion
That she temper tantrums and rages
At the oblivious self checkout
Only to have him thump a few buttons in solution.
The over-sensitive ballerina and the stoic minotaur.
And some days I toy with the idea
of printing the picture out
as I fight with document printer options.

Maybe one day I'll live their fantasy.