Rearranging the Universe

An array of vibrant plastic pieces
Spheres and cubes and odd branching bits
Holding tightly to the inside face of a locker door
Even the mute colors are brilliant

Each piece represents a galaxy
This universe is frequently rearranged by
The bored and careless hands of friends standing by
Saving or destroying realities
Sometimes achieving intergalactic peace
By forming the bright pieces
Into smiley face poses
Once holding up a printed picture of Bob Dylan

He's gone now
While the echo of tearing paper remains
From one Thursday after
Too much Drivers' Ed
Some galaxies almost disappeared that day
But the instructor was not quite Darth Vader
And the car with too many brake pedals
Could certainly never rival a Death Star

And so the plastic galaxies were not lost
And now exist in color-coded groupings
Waiting to be reintegrated


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