all that time
and effort you'd been spending:
your heart's
no longer warrantied
by the lyric poem's defending.
Sure, for now,
it still works
to its purpose, but
let's face it—it certainly
is no state-
of-the-art thing.
If your body were a car,
for instance, it wouldn't be
the engine;
it'd be
the rear defroster
or the AM/FM radio.
If your soul
were a home,
it wouldn't be the kitchen,
or even an electric
toaster oven;
it'd be
the old flip phone
which you keep
in a drawer,
just for those
gray-sky kind
of sentimental days
(it may be
a brick, you say,
but it still contains
a few
of your favorite
dead cat's old photos).
