A world of boxes.
All our worldly belongings
Crated into cardboard cubes,
Waiting like gifts to be unwrapped,
Handled and remembered.
A world of boxes.
A bittersweet bend to my thoughts
Reminds me that we ought not,
as Thoreau was convinced,
have possessions,
for we in maintaining them
allow them to possess us.
He thought that a doormat was acceptable.
For collecting and catching the dust from one's feet.
A functional thing, that.
However, we don't have a doormat.
So, I guess it's okay that we've got the projection TV to make up for that.
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