* * *
Universe
They're not
getting thrown out
you patiently
explain over and over
they're just
going into storage
we can take them
back out another time
and it'll be like
having new toys all over again
but they're not
even really toys
they're just
things
a random
collection of plastic bits
accumulated
without intention
tiny dinosaurs,
fairies, heroes, cars
doll accessories,
pirates and pieces--
a mismatched
menagerie of junk
an unplayed-with
universe
acquired on every
visit to the dollar store
in every happy
meal, inside chocolate eggs
and found every
day
when a child
walks down the sidewalk
a treasure for an
hour
then forgotten,
and you think of
their grandfather
who had to make
his own toys
for himself and
his cousins on the farm
from wood and
nails
and bits of
string.
Stained Glass
The past is an abandoned church
the scenes of your story
play out in the dusty images
of broken stained glass windows.
Let it come down.
* * *
