As I look around my comfortable prison,
I see my reflection in Sony’s single glass eye.
It’s dark and lifeless as he rests,
Waiting for his ward to point,
To burst into a technicolour song and dance
For the blank eyed audiences gormless pleasure.

I tense at the approaching vibrations,
The feline padding of tiny furred feet.
Rubbing against my legs, the vindictive threat
And intentions there for the room to see.
I was picked, as I had been the day before.
The new favourite plaything for it’s passing pleasure.
The smug joy of favouritism warm within my chest.

This is the evening routine, the same game played every night,
As I am swallowed by the comfort of my cushioned throne.
Emotional roulette to discover who has the pleasure
To be a seat for an indifferent animal,
Tonight's doting pedestal to lounge on.