Home » Poems » Sanja Cokolic » Those Peeled Boxes Some of Us Call a Home

Those Peeled Boxes Some of Us Call a Home

When I read
that we are all sculpted
upon his image
the first imprint appeared in front of my cognition
is that one of the parts sliding down the conveyor belt
just like at Fiat's

little pieces dropping in paper boxes
warily inspected
obsessively revised
senselessly omitted
from with white gloves wrapped hands
among those nude paper covers

suddenly your path doesn't seem so mysterious anymore
it's circular
and there we are 
circularly crossing over your first creatures hands 
with their perfectly white gloves

they were the first one
they should have been left the first one

but you just had that need to prolong the game
and implement some new rules
expecting that products will behave
according to the implemented protocols
and your workers will hold their hands white

then
an apple occurred
some overdriven laborer
dropped it from his lunch box
onto that moving rubber platform
and everything went wrong

one hands turned black
other white hands in desire to maintain themselves clear 
withdrawn from that rubber
leaving parts unsupervised
and boxes exposed to putrefaction
due to a single touch

some good parts are falling before they even reached the boxes
other good ones became damaged  by the fall
or are dropped in incorrect packaging
some malfactured one's reach the boxes 
and are sent side by side with good ones
everyone knows	
what happens when mildewed wall leans on the dry one

knowing that our price is devaluing
according to the  decay stage
you keep amusing yourself
deliberately pushing from time to time
that wrong button
just to remind us
how we are 
easily corrupted goods

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