each day we use a new damaged thing,

but we don’t realize it.

like broken bristles on a brush;

toothless, smile gone,

and it only scratches my head,

and time tells of my tangles.

but i am lazy to care too much.

borrowed it years ago;

never had the heart to give it back,

never had the heart to pull it out.

now the handle’s gone and left me in tears,

sane and stubbed and sad.

broken bristles on a half brush,

so i guess i’ll hang it on the christmas tree

and ask for a new one next year.