What appears to be,

The scene, it seems,

Blinks on the screen.

A wire-frame man,

Faceless, raceless,

Walks toward the door.

Each movement,

Stiff and robotic,

He pauses,

And lifts,

A package.

He pulls a key,

From an unseen,

Pocket.

He slices,

The packing tape,

Opens the flat-flaps,

And out come,

Rubber snakes,

And confetti.

We assume he,

Is shocked,

As he falls,

And rocks,

On the floor.

You turn from the monitor,

And look at the clock.

It took you 13 hours,

To make this,

In 1996.

You win four awards,

Some golf-claps,

And a baseball cap.