For Scrapped Metal- Needlephobiaanother one gone, they say, what a shame
you're a chalk angel drawn in white powder
on a cracked sidewalk, society's sad sunday child
if it's a powder or pill, share with me-
the fragments of thick black taint glowing
darkly on stark white snow, a black-white-red joke
(your punchline is always the dead penguin)
and you're about as high as a silver balloon, because
forgetting is something you do well, am I right?
you will see: what goes up must come down
your world paints itself with needle-shaped paintbrushes;
your words have the thickness of rot, decay
touch the crack, break your mother's back
the scent of innocence, once ripe now rotten
like fruit left too long in a refrigerator drawer.
another one gone, they say, what a shame
even scrap metal could have been melted into
something beautiful. yet you wear your black
taint high on your cheeks-they will never know
what a shame, my powder angel, your halo is gone.