Startling in your ability
To retain water
Retain any shape at all
The beautiful sentiments
You proudly gaze upon
After a day's work
Head propped on hands
Propped on elbows
Flowers on some field
Hills on some landscape
Don't wonder about the rest
Masses
We don't care
About your untimely death
Or your disease
Or your troubles
Nor do we reflect too hard on the flip
Working man woes
Factory blues
Missing fingers
There are songs for that
Music made of gears and taut string
We can only think about what we have
Oh, shimmering box cutter
Now an agent of terror
Or a symbol of dread
At the very least
A sliver of suspicion
I hold you in great regard
Each perforated seam
A suggestion of abundance
Giving way to new edge
New beginnings
And, sometimes
The old rusty
Is just good enough
To turn a screw
Or peel away the dingy paint
Most of all
I enjoy that you open things
When you could certainly
Within your means and design
Tear a thing to shreds
Oh, shimmering
Oh, cutter of boxes
When you retreat
Into your nifty sheath
Know you have a fan
Whether orange
Yellow or steely black
Your power is in both your doing
And not doing
It is your undoing that has given you cult status
And, I say
Enjoy it
Revel in it
The world loves a bad boy
And you have earned your place
Clean as a shiny new toy
Or dirty and rusty as an old fishing hook
You will remain
Victorious
In both substance
And understated design
Function is key
And you surpass expectations
It's all those floppy boxes
That I hope
You may one day
Fix your sights on -
But, alas
With no true sight
You are a utilitarian
In the hands of a task master
The craftsman and artist
Tend to leave you alone
Little do they know
In their boxy coma
That you have defied the rules
Of arts and crafts
To become your own
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6.2.09
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