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Wednesday
Jul042012

Poetry: Sid Miller

We’re like a couple of those plug-in reindeer,
whose cords can’t stretch enough to fly.
But don’t get me wrong,
there’s plenty of romance in this story too.

     At least until the day that
     a Tawny-bellied Cotton Rat
     gnaws through our wires
     and then some goth kid comes by
     and kicks our heads in
     with his steel-toed Doc Martens.

But even then we might still
get sold to an eccentric old lady
who decorates her corner lot
with beauty unrecognized by others.

     We could nestle between
     a naughty little girl gnome
     whose rump is up in the air
     and a bird bath. Our legs
     could support a rogue vine
     of scarlet runner beans.
     Children could look at us
     with wonder. Until, of course,
     the old woman dies
     and the whole lot of us—
     the flamingos, the giant
     snow globe, the plastered
     lion’s head and the unicorn—
     get tossed into a big
     metal garbage bin.

But even then, darling, even then,
while we sit atop a trash heap in Abilene,
we can rest our noses against each other.

     And wait, wait,
     with sun kissed fur,
     for a tornado to come
     from the sky and lift us.

 

All rights reserved to Sid Miller.

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