Now, I am used up
Not old, but used up!
My lines are soft and pliable
Covered with dust and debris
Bent into funny shapes through overuse
I can't fit into a slot anymore
My knees creak for wear
My eyes dim from seeing so many horrors
My skin is brittle from being washed so very much
My heart beats so slow, it takes more time to get blood to my brain
My voice is a whisper- not strong- not joyful
My hair, what is left of it, is gray like steel
I walk slowly and deliberately
I don't run, just walk with my head bowed, looking
for cracks in the pavement
Least I should slip into one and break something
I am just rusted out
No good to anyone, anymore;
except to add to their collection of pennies.