A poem about stagnation claimed to be change. This is also an entry for the lastest poetry challenge to those of you who know what that is about.
Life could be a joke
without a punchline.
Like a rusty hammer
laying next to some dirty magazines.
Magazines covered in mud, dust, and dander.
Popular Science.
Where’s my jet pack?
Time.
Camelot?
I guess that was before the king’s head
was blown across the plaza.
Just a faded memory for me.
One of my first memories.
Field & Stream.
A submarine for $2.95 plus shipping and handling.
Outdoor Life.
A live squirrel monkey for $9.95 plus shipping and handling.
Some things change for the better.
Other things change for the worse.
Do the changes you make within yourself make sense?
Are they beneficial?
Have they made you crass?
Have they made you warmer?
Do they make you the butt of a joke?
Do they make you its punchline?
Do they make you a song?
A song that has the power to heal?
Do they make you rust?
Maybe there is no change?
Maybe there is only stagnation and a layer of dust.
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