Rob S. Friedman
March 2021
Etch A Sketch
Immediate disappointment. Twisting two white nobs Would be less fun than Watching my box turtle Trundle along the surface Of its shoebox home At the prospect of wilted lettuce. But after my sisters lost interest in One knob scribing across the glass, Its partner, up and down, They waved Le Télécran like a wand, Dismissing it to me.
At recess the envied, prodigy pianist Soon discovered he could transcend its limits By turning both knobs simultaneously, Inventing visual improvisations that Produced as little awe in elementary audiences As his recitals. Back home, I made no attempt At facsimile houses or rocket ships Or sought comment on my alphabetic derring-do, Carving secrets onto glass, Attempting a voice to offset The flippancy of siblings.
Rob S. Friedman 