What a perverse thrill
Holding an artefact of highest technology
Elegant, machined within a hair of perfection
Fragile in its way, destroyed by the slightest shock
Taking it in hand
Not gingerly or tenderly
But with a hand remembering those first rocks
Raised in hairy fists
That, were one to ponder, lead to this artefact
With detours on the way
The joy is strange to bring it down so quickly
To know that first blow will forever change it
Transform it from silicon wonder to simple stone
Used to pound home recalcitrant bolts
When a hammer can't be found