Cassette

Winding back the tape
With a chewed up pencil, television flickers
Talk to the walls

Elsewhere in the future
People scroll down small screens
Forgetting themselves

Winding that pencil forward
The tape moves ahead of its time
Listens, peeks
And returns home, into
Your baby fingers

You too, in a few years
Will forget
The collective of lovely things
You played with
To become
as busy as you are in the future

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