Plaid Refuse
Plaid Refuse
Against the dirty brick wall,
its mortar flaking away,
the stroller stands—
bright plaid of red and blue,
whitewall tires still proud,
ready for miles it will never see.
There is cheer stitched into it still,
the kind that belongs to parks and picnics,
errands in the sun,
the steady hush of wheels
carrying someone precious
through the world.
Yet here it waits,
set out with the trash,
as though its usefulness
were already spent.
If you lean close,
you can almost hear it murmur:
I am not done.
I still have life to give.
So it stands,
plaid against decay,
discarded yet refusing—
refuse among refuse,
dignified in its silence,
refusing to be forgotten.