Sometimes a poem idea comes to me when I'm working on my daily blog. Yes, The Daily {W}Rite is suppose to be written in prose, but once in a while my poetic mode jumps in and . . . well, something like this pops onto the page:
Old Things
both have lost their shape, their practical functionality.
Even this old cap, my red and black Spider-Man hat
needs to be bagged and tagged and thrown in the dumpster.
Maybe some homeless guy will find it. Its frayed bill,
the faded Spider-Man face on the front panel,
the yellow stains that through the years have multiplied
on the elastic sweat band. And the squatchee
on the cap’s top has worn-out its cloth covering;
all that remains is a gray metal button rusted and bent.
Maybe all those things that I no longer find appealing,
that homeless guy’ll love. People who having nothing
often find pleasures in the things we throw away.
Woodie 11-19-15
Old Things
I'm
sorting through the closet drawers
gathering
up the holy socks and underwear,both have lost their shape, their practical functionality.
Even this old cap, my red and black Spider-Man hat
needs to be bagged and tagged and thrown in the dumpster.
Maybe some homeless guy will find it. Its frayed bill,
the faded Spider-Man face on the front panel,
the yellow stains that through the years have multiplied
on the elastic sweat band. And the squatchee
on the cap’s top has worn-out its cloth covering;
all that remains is a gray metal button rusted and bent.
Maybe all those things that I no longer find appealing,
that homeless guy’ll love. People who having nothing
often find pleasures in the things we throw away.
Woodie 11-19-15
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