I stand in the midst if a crumbling city

watching my neighborhood and its residents

being eaten by diseased rats

minds melting from toxic waste

Is this all I am?

A widget?

worthy only as long as I still fit

the machine

until my teeth are broken

My tires are flat

my axe broken

what then?

am I just a tool

an instrument to build, cook or clean

when I become splintered, dull or broken

I will be thrown

without thought

No one will look back

remember or recall all that I have done

where I have left my mark

it will be as if I had never been

Except only

On the junk pile

We’ll all be neighbors there again.

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