"Hey!" I call out.
But of course it's unheard.
She flits back and fourth,
Like an uncertain bird.
She's tearing up piles,
Clothes flying behind.
She's frantically looked
In each region, but mine.
"*******!"
She yells to the sky.
"Of all things to lose,
This one goes in my eye."
I snicker. It's true.
A conundrum, she's got.
In the bathroom she speaks "Are you here??"
I am not.
She always sees through me,
What a wonderful girl
She brings me out with her
And I show her the world
Her life became clear,
The day I was hers.
Life before me, she recounts,
Was a blur.
She loves me, and I her.
You could say that I'm quacked.
She speaks through a sigh
"I hate you, Contact."
I wrote this for a class. The prompt was: "Write a poem that speaks from the point of view of a lost or misplaced item that used to belong to you."
