Fickle Fad

Piles of tiny TY toys

That not so long ago

Were sought after, fought over

As if they were made of gold,

Now, like so much trash,

Are carelessly tossed aside

For breaking that promise

Of eternal loyalty and pride.

That silly made-up contract

Between man and his things,

Meant to be forever, but

Always a disappointing fling.

Then along come my friends and I

Ooing and ahhing over each,

For we see what they really are:

Symbols of what was not reached.

We recognize the hope that was

Placed in the small, cute, softies,

The high expectations held

Of self-importance so lofty.

And we make a new contract

With the tiny little things. We send

Them in care packages to the lonely

Who cherish the charm they bring.

For it is not the Thing that

Broke the pact made by man.

It was man who could not

The disenchantment withstand.

Naida Lavon

April 2009

This came to me after shopping at a thrift store with my friend.