Mammalian Junkyard

human wreckage,

lying strewn about like

old lost parts,

buried within this

mammalian junkyard;

who could know,

who would care;

waiting for a small glimpse of light

at the end of this proverbial tunnel,

they come by the thousands,

the millions,

for just a touch,

a look from their

multi-colored gods,

a souvenir to drag back

into the pits of this life

called home,

a chance to feel,

a chance to forget;

before the wrecking ball

smashes them

into pieces.

.

.