The Rose

White,   it emerges from shelf-life with its arm cocked at an angle. It holds four silver objectives poised above a wide, smooth dark open stage, which, when plugged in, shows the latest science slipped smartly into place. Slowly sliding sleek from stage right to stage left, backstage to upstage, millimeters or centimeters, under its glass wet mount, all is clearly

illuminated with a flip of its switch, triggering a lightbulb buried in the ominous substage. This streaming light, when let to pass through and to permeate its condenser iris diaphragm, is then abbreviated into a, tiny point of convergence, a stream of a glowing fraction of field iris diaphragm. This evolves into a measured, clear cut, designed field of vision, magnification, and depth of field. All is projected by

gray binoculars that jut out from its miserly arm, enormously stealing the show erected on its body tube. It beckons for some human to peer through it, brashly choke its course focus adjustment knob and, with its fine focus adjustment knob, observe the perfect production, starring some slick slide of sweet scientific discovery, going on below its white, silver nosepiece. All is far, fathoms too small to see

until its switch is unflipped, its stage becomes unclipped, and dark, now absent of wet mount, it’s somehow over. Simply, its cord is unplugged and wrapped around its light, general frame. Beware, for then it will offer its crooked arm, begging whoever uses it to then return it to shelf life where it will relapse    into blackness.

This poem is copyright 2009 of Jessica Anne McLean. All rights reserved.