Tamagotchi Child

• Jacob Rish, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2008

Young boy,
Head full of magnetic concoctions,
Play school observations,
New eyes drowned beneath Cataract Sea of day time television.
Deep throaty purr of world contentment
Is shaped formed into words
“Cookie,” cries the child of the earth.

Tears fall upon cheeks,
Splash upon shoulders,
Wailing hands and feet.
Cries echo through the plastic light
Bouncing of the tiled floors.
Howard Hughes supermarket,
Undertaker’s food store.
Wreaths and bouquets mourn the passing of their soil.
Men masturbate coldly in the dingy corners
Going through the motions of their primitive existence,
Eyes bored and apathetic,
Hand moving slowly and forlorn
This is what he should do.
He gives it up and throws himself into a display
Lost and crushed beneath a mountain of canned corn,
Creamy and artificial,
He shoves his face down into the bowl
Drowning in the chunky chicken goodness.

Young girl,
Belly swollen with electronic child,
Virtual experience,
I can’t believe it’s not dirt,
Playtime in a can,
Life inside a box.

Screaming man,
Hands to his face.
He wishes tears would fall
But eyes are dry,
So damn dry.
His scream is silent
Bound by convention and self-consciousness,
By the misinterpretation of symbolist eyes,
The silence after the mad act,
The nervous laughter of the watcher,
The desk upturned beneath his hands.
Fuck the watcher this is his world
He falls to the floor,
Blue and green pattern repeats itself,
A dollar a yard civil service cloth.
He rocks and weeps
His tears are creamed corn,
The watcher with his tin
Collects the tears
Commercial jingles ring inside his head.