I am old like a used tire.
Unlike the tire, I’m not every day used.
I am forgotten until summer, when the wind is hot
And the old timers are coming in droves to their summer homes.
I live in a field as green as the waters of a dolphin infested sea,
Albeit not as beautiful as those aquamarine waters.
I am as old and worn as a grandmother who has lived.
My paint is not as sharp and clear as it once was.
The hands of my lovers, past and present, have scraped them away as sure as the sky is blue.
I hear the children laughing gaily as they pass by,
They are promising themselves the pleasure of my company.
They are milling about holding hands as they wait in line.
They are waiting in line, for me.
They have finally remembered that I exist.
I see the first timers,
You can recognize them, cameras in hand,
Practically skipping in the queue that can’t move fast enough,
They bump against each other, their hands gesturing in a language I cannot understand.
Maybe, I once could.
When my paint was still wet and I had all the time in the world.
Time had still seemed eternal in all of its ancientness.
When I was still spinning without the ache in my metal bones,
Now, my bones creak with every spin and turn,
Informing me that the time might be nigh,
Revealing a secret that I ache to forget.
That a time will come when I shall no longer exist.
I shall be taken away and forgotten just like the one before me,
I waved him goodbye then,
Now it shall soon be me,
The old, being discarded for the new.
I shall be taken away, relegated to inexistence
The old timers shall remember me and smile.
The first timers will exclaim at the sight of my replacement.
For them, I would never have existed.
I weep for that time in the future.
But for now, I shall enjoy their affectionate touches,
Remembering my secret oath;
I shall create fond memories for them.
Hahahaha, I hear them laughing gaily.