one of these days, I will stop responding.
when you say hello, you'll get two syllables back
no more than an echo,
nothing of me.
you will pick me up, carry me with you
put me on your dashboard, for what luck I'll bring,
you'll get compliments on me.
I'll stare blankly back without wishing for windows.
you will tie me to the rafters; your guests
will lean
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