scraps of our life together
scattered on the floor
tossed repeatedly
when our life becomes
junk hoarded
each crystal figurine
seems to, in a dusty coat,
frown
and shake a finger
each newspaper, one
on another,
screams a headline of
war
when the dog sniffs out
an old banana peel
drags it along
thinking, one day, this will be
useful.
Press Send Poetry 
Jody,
Our lives are but scraps. Love this poem!
Angela – thank you! Appreciate it –