adventures in dysthymia

Monday, October 19, 2015

Toy Store, a poem

Toy Store

In a toy store world, Barbie exchanges
plastic kisses with Ken. Too removed
from the animal that prowls our streets,
there is nothing left to recognize

in their shiny faces, rigid bodies.
Could I be as hard as they, as lifeless,
perpetually cold, and still be loved?
What ideal might I embody, become

for dreaming hearts? Seek no perfection here.
Seek no future among the staring smiles
that line our way but return me to my shelf.
I can only wait, still in my box.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

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