A
million worlds
Of
plastic and aluminium
Portals
of glass, barely open to each other…
What does
he think about,
Alone
in his nervous, silent realm?
And
that one, so carefree
As to
dance, wild,
To his
unfashionable music,
Neither
hand too long on the wheel;
He is
so fascinating.
And
there, that child, face flattened
Against
the clear edge
Of her
mobile jellybean universe—
What
does she see
Outside
her faux-leather upholstered refuge
Through
her innocent, curl-wreathed eyes?
What
are all of we,
As we
roll ourselves to less interesting destinations?
Copyright ©2000 Adam Rutledge