TGWD's Photo and Poetry Corner

PURPLE HIPPO

I lie on the ground, contemplating the rocks and dirt.

Knowing the lush grass and clover sit in wait behind me is small consolation.

Am I smiling? It's been so long I cannot tell.

The buzz of insects, the hum of traffic, the click-click-click of heels as people pass by, oblivious to my plight.

Hello: I'm lying here. You almost stepped on me, you idiot.

Don't you even think of lifting that leg, Rover; do I look like a hydrant to you?

A few weeks ago I was in a toy store, wishing I were bought.

Now here I am, discarded and alone.

Maybe I didn't know how good I had it:

Warehouse.

Storage.

Mint in my packaging.

Fresh fabric smell.

Sitting in a box along with other shrink-wrapped animals, waiting in the toddler section of a store backroom somewhere.

Without even the luxury of a AA battery.

I'm a toy.

I have a story.

But ain't no Tom Hanks gonna narrate me.

I'd be lucky to get Gilbert Gottfried.

Gilbert.

Gilbert.

What a stupid name.

Gilbert.
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(c) 2010, photo and poem "Purple Hippo" by TheGreatWhiteDope. This post has been brought to you by the Bloggers Involvement Of The Corresponding Hyperbole. Donations help keep this movement alive. Please support BIOTCH. Thank you.

Dope out.

- TGWD