In the shopping cart, the victors revel, for they are the chosen ones. On the shelves, friends are left, rejected. Choosing the orange toothbrush, I snub the arrogant green brush, the favored child. In the cupboard, the last two granola bars hold on to each other, begging my appetite not to separate them.
Such is the moral dilemma confronting me daily. Try as I might to suppress sympathy with the inanimate, I’m not patient-zero, my own father is afflicted, too: he mourns the backspaced letters who lose their chance at publication. So save the letters, love the orange, respect the inanimate!
Such is the moral dilemma confronting me daily. Try as I might to suppress sympathy with the inanimate, I’m not patient-zero, my own father is afflicted, too: he mourns the backspaced letters who lose their chance at publication. So save the letters, love the orange, respect the inanimate!
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