Blessed are we who get to sense —
To feel the ambience of sentience
The tastes and sounds so dense
They make filtered ignorance our defence
But what of those objects who cannot see?
On the brink — cannot think —
Have no sense of "me"?
Try fathom — if just for a thrill —
That inanimate did animate with sentient will
If walls could talk
Or amenities squawk
Your life would be full of diversion
You could no more ignore these things that implore you
Through monologues read in first person ...
"My life is to serve you
Sometimes unnerve you
But you don't swerve from the curb to me like you use to do
Stuck on this mooring
It's always so boring and my life'd be fruitless — useless —
If not for that one thing I'm adoring
If it's correspondence you seek
You know longer peek at me
— once a week if I'm lucky —
All of your phonics are now electronic
Leaving me bringing ills;
Delivering bills or junk mail that soon spills from the bins that it fills
I'd feel so much better
If just one letter not from a debtor
— from maybe a friend or a jet-setter —
Would fill my emptiness and bring you happiness;
It may make you check me more and not regret it
I don't mean to offend — it's true —
I've got this job to do
And one day I'll not be needed and won't be here for you
Once a day check the clocks
Turn the locks, I could hold pleasant shocks.
Love — your mailbox"
Not much to warm the heart from my greeting card
Each time you use me it's to abuse me
— slices, cuts; they all confuse me
I see it it all as you prepare to eat
I sit in silent resignation
When food's in need of separation
You slice and dice in preparation
— I just pray for variation
Your knife, my life — constant strife!
You know I've uses less unnerving
I'm flat and large enough for serving
On my face could make a fine display
If just once I was used this way
But you never think to risk it
I'm never, ever used for biscuits
Your relentless chopping
— then it's to the sink for mopping
And into the drawer until you pull me out for more;
Just like before
I'm scored — so scored —
I don't want raise discord
But I have ambition
It's my mission to be like the platters and the trays
To be used in more ways one of these days
Can you just once put down that sword?
And maybe — if you can afford —
Serve food from me?
Love — your chopping board"
"My job is one not many envy
But I just sigh and be the best I can be
It's your machinery
You've got to pee
And social rules say:
'You pee where none can see.'
— none can see but me
I know but don't tell
I have no nose so can't smell,
But it's living hell some spells
— and I pray for the days you eat well!
The things I've seen!
I'm a simple machine
I like to be clean
But it's obscene
And a little mean what do what you do to this old latrine!
If it's yellow let it mellow?
Who came up that?!
... "Not this fellow!" I bellow
If I had a hand with which I could rush
I'd reach up and give myself a flush
My mouth it sours
I've no mobile powers
And have to gargle that for hours!
I love it when your friends are 'round
Or your parents in from out of town
Then you scrub me
And rub me;
You give some love to me
Shine me up nice and bright,
Get my porcelain gleaming white
The toilet brush, he lives in fear
But he only gets used twice a year!
I guess what I'm saying is:
Keep using me to do your biz
But this thing we have?
We're close, don't spoil it
Take the time to clean
— your toilet