Plaything

Hoping against hope
Is a slippery slope.
Will the phone ring
And bring
A temporary release,
A kind of peace?

Hope tenuous as fingers that on the cliff edge scrabble,
And a mouth dry as gravel.
Thoughts travel
Back:
A lack
Of control, Shown by a boy
With a shiny new toy.

The plaything once tried
The child cried
Out once more for the toy
That brought such joy,
But the bauble left
Leaving him bereft.

Should the phone not sound
No lesson profound
Will be learned
For the spurned
Boy
Will batten on a new toy.

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5 thoughts on “Plaything

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