X-Acto blade in hand, I slice open the FedEx box
Like a drunk surgeon.
The loose games and pro controller are but obstacles
To the prize beneath.
A black box that tells me:
,” “32 GB,”
Sliding out a cardboard tab releases one end
I pull back a flap,
Then two more.
Inside, two cardboard shelves,
That I slide out,
Surveying the top shelf
I spy Nintendo Land
No paltry, Wii Sports
The game goes with the rest.
Underneath are documents,
Wrapped in plastic
I lightly toss aside.
Plastic-wrapped power cords overwhelm their section
Each neatly twist tied more than once
As though to prevent their escape.
I toss them on my couch
Twist ties intact.
A second compartment, cleverly hid below Nintendo Land
Contains more wrapped objects.
A gamepad stand that from the side looks like a casual squiggle.
Two small plastic pieces, looking like squat Us, that a moment’s thought reveals as the console’s faux feet.
I lift the empty tray
The second tray revealed at last,
I behold something,
Wrapped in foamy white plastic,
Fastened with taffy-green tape,
That undone reveals the Wii U console.
The size of an undernourished dictionary.
I strip away the plastic, too thin to be paper-thin, adhering to the console,
Protecting its vents.
The PS3 that died last year is replaced
By my new machine.
One piece remains.
Removing its spongy opaque covering I find
Shiny black, I hold it in my hands,
Ridges and curves underneath fit like gloves
I gaze at its buttons, knobs, triggers.
Its camera lens,
Its tiny speaker holes.
Its ports – headset, charging, peripheral.
A sheathed stylus.
There are still twist ties to straighten,
Objects to unbag,
Cords to connect.
But I must push the power button first.
The screen glows white,
And whispers, “Nintendo” and then, somewhat louder, “Wii U.”