J Walking

With a father’s pride, a post from my daughter Laura, 5th grade.


I start in a box,
Just pieces of wood or metal,
With bolts and screws
Still in a bag

I am lifted into a car or truck,
Roughly and with no care.
Put on the metal bed of a truck,
Then taken for a bumpy ride.

When I arrive at my new home,
I’m dumpted into my future room.
Where I sit for a few days,
’till someone gets around to assembling me.

The stab me with screws,
and twist bolts in me.
Then they prop me up,
and put pile after pile after pile on my back.

If I had a mouth I’d protest,
If I had muscle I’d fight back.
If I had feet I’d run away,
If I could move I’d shove stuff off of me.

But until I break and get thrown out,
I’ll just stand here.
Waiting for the day I am thrown out,
The day I can stand no more.

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