Little Frederick

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Little Frederick was a fine boy.


His parents taught him well,


and he got good grades.


He was assembled before he learned to walk.


His parents chose his future and set him straight.


They ordered him from the factory,


and he came in a small box.


The instructions told them where to insert his heart,


but they skipped that step,


as most parents did.


Little Frederick grew up to be a fine young man.


He was handsome and wealthy,


because he followed the rules


and payed attention.


Frederick was respected as he grew older.


He was at work by nine and went to bed by then.


He enjoyed staying within the lines,


and he knew when to say no.


Frederick was smart, tamed, and groomed.


No one spoke ill of him,


because he never crossed the line.


The line of civility, that was.


Frederick was kind,


he opened the door for women,


and he never had more than one drink at a party.


By forty, Frederick was promoted.


By sixty-seven, Frederick was retired.


He ate well and was a member of a gym.


He liked to golf but stayed away from cigars.


To work by nine and asleep by ten;


he never missed a day.


Old Frederick was a robot.


To work by nine and asleep by ten.


Old Frederick was another product.


He blended in with the crowd


and kept his thoughts to himself.


When he found himself growing passionate about something,


a switch turned in his head,


draining all the inspiration


and all the ambition.


To work by nine and asleep by ten;


that was all his energy was used for.


Old Frederick was just another product of the machine.


Frederick was a product but a cold one.


All Frederick was, was a product,


a product of society’s machine.

Created: Feb 23, 2014

Tags: machine, prose, prduct, black and white, poetry, drawing, sketch

J.M. Black Image Media