Wooden as a pool cue, clunking on the boards.
He talked a while, and as he babbled on,
I wondered was there anything under the paint?
I poked him to be sure, and yelled in his ear:
He could touch, but not feel, talk, but not hear.
I peered toward the roof, saw the cords snaking down:
These ends attached to his puppet hands,
Those ends controlled by another.
Still he prattled on, unaware how I altered.
I sighed. He looked at me,
(If you can say those flat eyes see.)
I'm no Magic Fairy, I said,
But don't you want to be a Real Boy?
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