The Puppet

I made a puppet once
that looked exactly like me.
I yanked the strings,
and he stood straight as a tree.
I opened his mouth,
and his tongue flashed silver.

And goddamn, could he dance
with limbs flowing like water.

One day, I tried him out.
Painted him a big, toothy grin,
and dragged him out of the house.

A crowd of people
popped up around us.

And he just broke apart.

Like that.

His head rolled away
with that mocking, toothy grin.
His treelike posture,
a pile of splinters.

And that silver tongue
turned to rusty iron.

And I was left
standing there.


With my stone limbs
and my boomerang back.

All I could do
was pick up the pieces
and walk home alone.


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