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Anything Could Happen
They say it’s coming, the three-dimensional printer.
I will make a teapot. I will push print and out will come
A parking lot, a spoon, a wish-cloud of lace that I will
Wear. From a block of photopolymer or thermoplastic:
A box of wax, ten reams of paper. Poof! Ahem! Rumble!
It’s a prototype, my young friend says. Whatever comes out,
You can’t really use. But, we know these things will be useful.
I will hold the teapot, but I will not drink.
I will put sugar on the spoon, but I will not stir.
Models. So real, and so not—just like our poems.
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