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