i should add one more friend, as some
of my friends are getting old, too old.

they can't jump out of my pick-up bed;
can't run fast, lift big boxes of toys.

they've become utilities that i don't use.
my curb is filled with old, worn carcasses;

they lie there and beg as drivers come by.
beg for life again, the life they bought;
yet no ownership papers exist to prove it;

lieing there with their broken dreams,
sack lunch and a family-tree of pain.

yet when drivers stop, they want the soft
center of a tootsie pop; eschew the hard.

08/28/2008

Posted on 08/28/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan