After Changing

So now that I have fallen into obsolescence,

What is it that you’ll make of me?

Will you repurpose me—

Rip my skin from its rusted staples,

Savoring each pop and tear

As you reupholster me?

Perhaps with something floral.

You always did have a flare for

Picking petals

And pulling weeds.

And when you've refashioned me,

When you've coated my skin with varnish

And stuffed me full

Of cotton and feathers,

What then?

Will I be sold?

Gifted?

Bartered?

Set aflame so you can watch a beautiful thing

Burn?

Well, I invite you

To have a seat

And watch a better boy run past

Your open window.

Call to him

And ask him to try me out

For himself.

See then what he says

And tell me how you feel.