The Toy
In that place where my crib once rocked,
perhaps even now
a toy lies submerged
in the gray and gritty dust.
It was not a new or an old plaything,
it was but a leaving, a plaster crocodile
taken from crumbling foundations
where only shadows walked
as a weak sunlight moved them.
I like to think it is still there
where I first drooled a baby smile
over a plaster crocodile
that none saw a use for
nor either
for that child leftover.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
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