Poem: Disorder



The blocks are jumbled on the table,
their colors faded,
just enough vibrance to read each letter
or see the characters, a train, a boat, a dog
on each flat side.

They are irresistible.
Children and elderly alike feel compelled
to pick them up, to feel the raised letters.
They stack them.
They create towers and walls.
They spell the names of their lovers.

And then, without fanfare,
they jumble them up once more,
toss them aside,
and leave.


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