In the Persona of …

In the Persona of …

I am an inanimate object.

I know this because

I look inside myself sometimes

for feelings I vaguely suspect

should be there. I don’t find them.

I find only a sort of floating

dizzy half-awareness. I do have

that, for as much as it’s worth.

It tells me that things are going on

with other objects and even people.

People – they are strange and loud,

full of movement. Sometimes, 

they flash with moving colour.

I stay still in my corner. I hope

I may escape their notice. If

they speak to me, I stare back.

Where I live, inside my boundaries,

I can watch the world within me.

I feed, I lie down, I do the things

which keep the object I inhabit

going on and going on. I am told

or shown to do these things

at intervals. They impinge on me.

I am otherwise occupied.

I don’t care if you don’t know

what it’s like here within. I know.

The body is a mere distraction

except when I use it to make

rhythm. Then it gives me 

a pleasure that I love, inside; I

become the pleasure. It is me.

Don’t show me all those things

you think I must enjoy if only

you show them louder, better.

I won’t like what you think I must.

I can hardly see it, hardly hear it.

I am busy in secret inside my walls

where you can’t see me either

or hear me, even when I make noise.

When I really speak, my language

is nothing like yours. I sit still

and quiet, listening to me.

Poetic Asides prompt 9: A persona poem (for an inanimate object).