You Can Take It With You: A New Materialism

The plastic kept me warm that night.

I closed my eyes and heard the towels throwing themselves against the cabinet doors.

They nearly screamed for their freedom.

I swear I never realized they had such strong feelings about their lives.

I took them out to the clothes line the next day.

I dressed myself as a blanket and watched them tug at the clothespins with violent force.

It was as tho they had somewhere else to be. . .

The next day, I changed my fabric softener.

I used herbal detergent, and tried the delicate cycle.

I also offered them jazz.

I read them Thoreau - occasionally T.S. Elliot.

Together, we studied Zen until they were rid entirely of static cling.

The next day, the dishes refused to settle.

They rattled incessantly with the vibrating refrigerator.

They offered me no choice.

I gave the fridge some incense and a good defrosting.

The dishes, I hand dried from then on.

The towels would teach them Zen while I sang to them.

And one day, as tho following a suppressed dream or an ancient instinct, the fork ran away with the spoon.

They left a note:

"There is an answer to the oppression of our lives; but it isn't through complaining or protesting with peers.  It is through positive action and only through positive action that we may rise above the constricting hold of our modern existence.

Signed,

Fork and Spoon"

Today, I shall set out to liberate the furniture.

- Aug. 3, 1985, A.D.