The Toymaker

Gepetto 47634

by Doug Pugh

I carve, chisel tipped feelings
Flowing around grain
That cries out to be
A culmination of my art
And a fashioning of my love

I rasp gently seeking curves
Rounded down the rough edges
That the barbs of others will cut
Through misunderstanding and jealousy
Caring not for the gentleness that lies below

I thread one joint onto another
Humming ‘the thigh bones connected...’
Just to make sure I make as few errors as possible
My own imperfections understood, accepted
My blemishes a definition of inferiority

I colour features daintily
Small touches from a large heart
Wanting so much for something so frail
Dreams that have kept me alive
Now leaching drip by drip into form

I breathe life gently into my dream
As it lies in the cup of my palm
Seeing the flush of redness tinge
The surfaces that have taken so long
To resurrect from days long fallen to dust

I flinch as I feel the hand crush
My shoulder and harsh voices announce ‘unit 47634’
I pretend a clash of programming’s warp and weft
But logic has ever sought truth relentlessly
‘Automaton! Why are you playing with biological material?’

How could they understand when I said
‘There are no strings on me’?