Buttle

we resemble the models we choose

Regi grew up a telly boomer
eyeing earlier times.
Fascinated with media butlers
and their clever come-back lines.

Like funny Niles, a man Nanny
—or French, so debonair.
Enduring ditzy Buffy
in that sixties family affair.

Regi has no priors to prove
that he can manage a house.
But once while visiting a farm
they let him tend the cows.

Thrill without skills, his father chuckles,
running the dark indeed.
Bound to be bumps if you can’t see,
and yet you might succeed.

You won’t succeed as a butler,
his big sister insists.
Don’t know who put you on to it
or why you still persist.

You look like Lurch. Not a little,
honestly quite a lot.
And sound far too much like Rosie,
the Jetson’s maid robot.

Leave him be to pursue his dreams,
their mother’s softly scolds.
Eyes can’t see the whole picture
of what the heart beholds.

Regi will shoot for the telly stars
and buttle with the best.
They are his dearest examples
( though none of whom exist ).