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The Box (Rachel Jackson-Lafayette, LA)



“Did you think to switch on the box last night?
Did you get a chance to witness what went on?
The monkey eating crackers, blessed by that poor nun
who right before was sued by her own father.

You didn't get to watch, you say?
Well boy did you miss out.
You couldn't take a minute break?”
to me my comrade questions.

“I suppose that I couldn't,” I answer a bit perturbed.
“Much too much to do within this world.”
Both the nun and monkey seem to me somewhat absurd,
but I'll not criticize the likes of others.

“You really should take note
of all the fun that you are missing,
neglecting the friendly dial
that adorns your TV.”

The rage within me grows
so much I scarcely can control it.
Were I a more violent person
One might need to be afraid.

“Don't you see its utter nonsense!
This great fun of which you speak.
It is taking life and
shrinking it to a  screen!”

My comrade backs off quickly,
His hands both forming sheilds.
“No need to get defensive.
I was only poking fun.”

I do my best to tolerate
the activities of the masses,
but perplexing will I always find
he power of these little boxes.

These little boxes that bring us drama
though our lives are far from simple.
They make us cry for unreal folks
while real folks outside are dying.



How do they prevail
With such an artificial spectrum?
The Earth provides amusement
for all five senses?

You steal my conversations, box,
by showing nuns with crackers.
I try to talk to people
but your screen pulls them away.

O you wretched box! You steal
the vigor of our children.
You shrivel the precious brains
That should be growing in their skulls.

If the choice were mine, I'd take you all
and place you in a capsule.
I'd tape it up and buy a shovel
to dig your secret grave.

See what audience you'd find there,
Box, what species you'd enslave.
I reckon you would take the worms
but at least I'd have freed my own.

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