You were a gift
with a slogan
across your chest.
“Talk Bizarre” or
something close —
all that’s left,
After many
detergent cycles,
is a faded Z, and
Many holes,
tears and
sagging neck.
Once worn often
every season,
you performed well
In the manner of shirts —
kept out cold,
blocked breeze,
Shielded skin
from sun,
sponged up sweat.
But “Bizarre” gave you
a long life
and many conversations,
That was your
unique attribute,
your elixir of youth.
And now, wet
with soapy water,
you push and pull
Across a filthy car,
Z forgotten,
no longer bizarre,
Suffering the
mundane fate
of a rag.
Bluster & Absurdity 