The Junkyard

for their little left worth

to be sold, for few pennies

Junk, sitting in the Junkyard

a wooden chair with a broken arm

its fabric stinking of some heavy metal

an air conditioner with its compressor broken

the plug on it’s wire missing, at the end

books from the past, their paper turned yellow

with many missing pages, their covers all torn

a bike with its handle twisted

tyres deflated, the paddles jammed

broken toys of all sorts and shapes

a little horse, a train and a few barbie dolls

Junk in the Junkyard lying without any life

spider’s net covering some of it

layers of dust covering it all

it may be, of little worth today

or may be, of no worth at all

yet, the Junkyard holding it all so dearly

not wanting to let go any of it

because it has held the junk for so long

the Junkyard NOW

ONLY COMPLETE with the Junk

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