Smudged window pane by tiny fingers
smeared paint strokes across painter’s canvas
dusty thick with mold and spores of mildew
stained yellow from years of finger print oil
worn like the gourmet chef’s prize cutlery
broken pottery will not hold moisture
scarred flesh unable to hide much abuse
scratched by the claws of numerous cats
bent by refraction of the water’s surface.

Still like the stalking stork standing in reeds
quiet as the air inside a book cover
cold as a wind-chill of an arctic blast
alone on the playground at recess time
helpless like the beetle laid on it’s back
lifeless as the shed skin of the rattle snake.

Smudged by my fingers as I tried to grasp
smeared as he tried to avoid my attempts
dusty after a long day’s cutting wood
stained by the many times he put them on
worn from many hours awake toiling
broken still because of his poverty
scarred as the back of his lord and savior
scratched by metal, wood, and flying debris
bent from when I sat on them that afternoon.

Still as he no longer puts them on now
quiet as his heart ceased beating in them
cold from lack of his warm and smiling face
alone just the frame and glass on the table
helpless as his hands will no longer reach
lifeless lying there, alone, still, quiet, cold.
    © 2000 Brady S. Brown