What Am I? Poem by Irene Ikeadigh

It makes life better
It makes life easier
We don't have to walk long distances
Nor wash our clothes
Sweat stained fabrics now bare from repeated service all year long
Is that an eye or nose I see on you?

Who said you make life easier?
Who said I can afford to heat my edibles with your discovery?
Can you be compared with the original?
You all know the answer.

Look! Look! is all around you.
The air we breathe
The water we drink
Our sources of edibles
Our lighting
Oh no! is seeping into our beings
Our basic form of existence.
Can a pot say to the potter give me this shape
Give me that shape?

They keep doing it
Pots are the architects of their making.
Perhaps the pot will wreck it's shape.
Soon, soon, soon.
The effects of the pot's action will smile in its disheveled state.
I will not be there
Will you be there?