Faith and Redundancy

I am the Fisher Price tractor with its big wheel missing,

Capsized amongst the over-growth with the used condoms

And the blooded needles.

The children don’t play with me anymore.

I am faded and sticker-less apart from the word ‘Cockhead’

with an incorrect spelling and written by a permanent marker in 1989.

I pass my time with my friends

A deflated space bouncer with Pit Bull teeth marks

And rusty old chopper (broken is the chain)

We sometimes pretend to be modern art

Within a busy commercial district

full of suited wisdom and sophistication

In the City people would be in awe at our simplicity

Would ponder over our intentions and

Tourists would only photograph my good side.

There is potential.

I think it’s all a matter of marketing.

If we can get the pitch right, and to the right people

There’s a market there.

Until my big break

my audience will be the millipedes and slugs,

here in the garden of number 53.

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July 2007