Through the factory they march proud
Heads held high without a word.
Onto trucks they go without a sound.
On shelves, in rows, they stand waiting
Forever at attention
Silently pleading, tempting, baiting
Each passerby to take them home
Away from this eternal standing.
Then home they go, with hopes in tow,
Of a life not too demanding.
And more likely then not, they’ll be taught
Their place is to work, ‘tho their war’s been fought.
You can find them in homes,
in cupboards, on shelves
Sometimes in places no one dares to delve
Inside a container with a bendable nose
In this cylinder a cheezy mess flows.
But when they’re through
Once they’ve served their time
They are discarded and replaced with the next in line.
Back to Year 1999 Poems.
