The Plastic Shells


running your hands across the surface

so smooth, so hard, so crisp, so sleek

feeling the curves, the edge, the lip

running under your finger tips

to press, depress, to feel it click

to a screen that responds so fast, so quick


a square, a rectangle, a piece of plastic

the famialer shine of polished clear?

a crack it runs from bottom to side

from side to top, from top to back

your greedy hands pry at them with a wicked quick snap

there it is so Serene so Divine

the disc you place in your plastic shrine


piano black finish, or white heavenly shells

it matters not as your heart it swells

the light flickers from the plastic tower of power

to release epic signals to a waiting screen


the plastic shells, so many, so plenty

they open our worlds to a gaming bevy

protective barriers from the sparks of imagination

that follow rubbery cords to screens of illumination


~Chris Kirchoff~