No one is doing it wrong.
The dog-eared Book is pretending to listen
while her pages inject into me wisdom
and make me howl.
The Television has gotten cattier
since I last turned him on.
The Washing-machine that cowers under
the stars is a little too afraid
I'll shock her.
The Switchboard will stick to me
until his last.
The Doormat is a pseudo prostitute,
but she isn't doing it wrong.
The Doors with treasure in their armpits,
the Windows stark naked
and the Ventilators contriving a silly scene;
the Paperweight eying a lizard
and the Ant beading herself into
a mute song-
They aren't doing it wrong.
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