They Are Looking At Me Poem by Michael Hunter

Two wide-screen monitors look at me
with blank, black faces
awaiting some input from a dusty keyboard and unused mouse.

These portals for imagination and commerce -
the windows to my research,
my entertainment,
and my means of paying my way in life -
look at me blankly in unhurried anticipation.

Do they see me as only an instrument of their operation?

Do they think of me as a means for their worldly interactions?

Do they wait in secret anticipation to see my choice of wardrobe each day?

Do they miss me over the long hours of the quiet weekend?

Am I nothing more that the tool - like a keyboard - who brings their adventures to life?

Or, are they simply inanimate objects and I am being too literal and literary?

Perhaps they are only monitors,
and have nothing to interact with me over.
But perhaps they are more…?

I prefer to think the latter.