The Box (Justin Wetch)
"The Box" by Justin Wetch
As a kid I never was the type to color in the lines
I used to wonder, why do the lines even exist?
When these pictures in my head are ripe for harvesting
And I can give the world something it’s never seen before.
They said, “Think outside the box!”
But truly, I don’t think they meant it.
Or perhaps they meant it literally, as in,
“Think outside the box, but stay inside it.”
Upon further reflection, I have to conclude
That that is, indeed, the case.
I don’t think they much approved
of my incessant attempts to break free.
For once I had tasted freedom,
I resisted what I saw to be a prison cell.
Tired of my antics, they locked me in as I was daydreaming
And threw away the key with a laugh.
There I was, locked away in that roomy box,
So, I decided to have a look around.
A heavy, immovable, drab wooden desk
And on it, a form with checklists and neat little spaces
And next to that, a generic gray metal pen.
Behind the desk, an average-sized chair
with an average-sized head rest
Much too small for me, it appeared.
There was a rack of clothing near the back,
A row of black suits and white shirts;
As I walked past, I picked up the scent
of a generic male cologne drifting dully in the air.
I opened a desk drawer to see what was within.
A book, labeled “Vacation Photos!” In small, all-caps print.
Perhaps that would be of some interest...
I flipped it open casually, shifting in the rigid chair.
I expected pictures of sunny days, beach living, and fun,
But I did not find any. Instead, there were black and white photos;
The subjects: a TV set, a worn-in couch, and an at-home office.
Bored already, I turned my attention to thoughts of getting out.
I tried the door, but it was barred with a heavy lock;
I looked for a window, but found only an empty frame.
“Let me out!” I screamed, banging loudly on the door.
“This is your home now, don’t you see? This is your new life.”
Was the muffled reply from the other side.
Already claustrophobic, I fell to my knees and wept.
“Don’t be sad, there’s plenty to like about the life
We’ve already got planned out for you.
War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, and Ignorance is strength;
After some time, you’ll love the box like a big brother.
We’ll put you through twelve nice years of school
Where you’ll learn to see this box as beautiful;
your memories of freedom and possibility will slowly fade
And you’ll realize you don’t really need to think for yourself.
After that you’ll go to a college or university
In year multiples of two, four, six, or more
Where the dreams we’ve told you are acceptable to have
Will be narrowed down, categorized, and trained for
Until you’re small enough to be a nice little worker bee.
You’ll sleep for eight hours, work for eight hours, and then
in the remaining eight hours, we have all sorts of screens,
gadgets, doodads, and pleasant toys for you to play with,
With just enough variation to keep you vaguely satisfied.
You’ll have just enough rebellion in these first few years
To placate you into inaction until you die.
After some time has passed, you’ll feel it time to fall
into this crazy thing we call ‘love’; but do, do of course
be very careful that you do so only as we have prescribed
And with the established pattern of how it is to be done.
You’ll sign a paper and say some vows
And reproduce so the cycle can start all over again.
Then you’ll retire comfortably, watching spectacle sports,
politics, and birds, until you die at long last
And we put you in an even smaller box, in neat rows,
with all the others who have their own little boxes too.”
I sat in stunned silence to see how the world worked.
Sadness overcame me, and I lamented this reality;
the fact is, for me, the box they wanted me to end up in
The one six feet under, nicely insulated, and made of wood,
Was the same one they wanted me to live in
For my entire life, from first breath to last.
If it takes every single second of every day I have left
I will shatter this prison, the box will no longer constrain me.