Celly

An object poem

Celly

You’re a black rectangle;

because you didn’t come in white.

Not your fault.

 

Two generations behind,

costs me the studio’s rent.

If I take the case,

and the protector for your face,

I‘d forfeit food for the month.

Hey, it’s ok,

you didn’t set the price.

 

The button on the left

Controls your overwhelming voice.

I know you can ring and sing,

but I have to keep you mute:

constant vibrating.

You gossip and chirp

when it’s time to listen and learn.

Don’t worry though,

I’ll take the blame.

 

 

The button on the right

allows us to see one another.

One push-

and we’re gazing into souls,

scrolling through mindless,

unfacted s**t; searching for a purpose-

coming up short.

Not your fault.

 

Another push,

We return to our own worlds.

When the realization

Of squandered time settles,

I fantasize smashing your face

Into oblivion;

shattering our dreams.

But no! It’s not you I blame:

It’s the user.

Author's Note

Any feedback is appreciated.

Reviews

[mattavelli]

Hello, Will! :)
This was a fun read. I got a kick out of the "it's not your fault".

[Will-house]

Thank you very much. This was one of the first poem i wrote. Granted this is later draft. I'm glad you enjoyed it.