To these we’re long accustomed – we know how they’re made.
Those others over there? They are not ours.
Attempts are underway to assort them by grade,
though the inquiry’s been stalled by higher powers
who want us to adopt a public slant.
Soon we’ll lose them to every credentialed cretin
with enough backing to win a government grant.
But disappointment is bound to set in
if they’re left to their own inanimate torpor.
We’ve learned much from having them projected and thrown.
Such movement seems to call them to order.
They seem to assume a liveliness all their own
and remind one of bearded, conspiring Norsemen.
Up close, however, they’re merely porcelain,
with a whiteness more white than the whiteness of bone.
[Previous: The Big Squint]
[Next: Trinkets and Runnels]