! Two-Dimensional Dream - Poem by Michael Shepherd
If you called me 'two-dimensional', I guess
I'd go away and think about it - is he
insulting me and if so, how?
Though in a sense, all of us here in cyberspace
are two dimensional, to each other?
There's one time, though, when two dimensions
would be a blessing: like today,
when the cutely photographed brochure
for IKEA, the flat-pack furniture giant,
thudded through the letterbox
with its cosy nordic world as fresh and clean and scented
as a newly-built sauna just fired up;
then the two-dimensional me
could simply slip like a well-trained bookmark
between page 24 - 'a welcoming family room'
and page 25 - 'a bathroom to relax in'
with a pine-scented sigh of relief
that I wouldn't have to drive ten miles,
queue out of sight of the parking-lot just to get in,
then after checking what was out of stock,
go home and try to put the bloody thing together
despite the missing bolt.
You'll find me there on page 25,
under the artfully arranged bubbles, relaxing
in my carefree, blond and nordic way,
smiling the smug smile
of the sterile two-dimensional.
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