They know not this, the collectors of me,
The rough, rough nature of the beast I am
As the plastic stiff face is all they see.
Yet 'hind mine eyes I think therefore I am.
A stranger here, someone's beauty I think,
With all my tomorrows and hereafter
To thoughts of my yesterdays ever linked,
An everlasting soul in love, laughter.
Any who try to bring some me to heel
Or bribe me with a plastic pink Corvette
Will find somehow I found a tongue quite real,
Laced up with words, lightning they'll not forget.
Too, the sick pink mansion in Malibu
Without apology I do eschew.
Barbara Butler McCoy
(submitted, also, as a response to
Challenge #5, the four)
