the toy is broken
all it does
it plays the same one tune
the one about
the love it had
that it lost way too soon
except, that love
was never real
it was a puppet show —
but toys: they just get played with, cause
i guess that’s all
they know
I don’t do this very often, but, I want to comment on the poem, above.
My daughter is in the next room trying to talk herself out of filing for the divorce that everyone in the world can see she needs to file for. He has left her, demeaned her, controlled her – but still she clings to memories of someone who I’m not sure ever really was.
It’s heartbreaking, really. For her and her son.
