Boxes

This poem is from my writing archives.

When I was young, my family moved.  However, when I was old enough to be on my own, I moved A LOT.  I moved so often that boxes simply became part of my world.  In fact, it was so bad that I started to name my boxes.  Oh, a note: if this poem does not flow, it's simply missing its meter.  I am currently looking for the meter, which no doubt, was left on my school bus.

Boxes

by

Roy Edward Power

Boxes.

Surrounded by boxes.

Overwhelmed by boxes.

“Wait!  This is my house!”

Yet, still they sit,

Quietly contemplating their takeover.

One box at a time,

Being emptied of their precious loads.

Yet, still they loom,

Stern empty faces,

Looking for empty places,

Wishing we would just go away

And let them be.

Look how quietly they contemplate

How they would rearrange every plate,

Remodel the bathroom or den.

Look!  They are moving in!

Boxes, boxes,

Surrounded by,

Overwhelmed by - boxes.

They don’t consider the price,

They simply think that the living room is nice.

Boxes, boxes, boxes.

copyright - 24 June 1994

edited - 4 April 2005