Porcelain Fire Hydrant
A faint little Nick-nack
Sitting on my father’s desk
Stolen from a Fire Station
One Halloween for no other reason
Than the story it would bring
A funny story for a funny toy
Untouched by kids afraid
Not of shattering its fragile frame
But disturbing the sacred dust
Gathered since before we knew life
It is more than a keepsake
He is more than his stories
It gathers dust
But its existence on the desk
Stands as the only gift self-given
The only present on Halloween
A surprise from his intoxicated alter ego
It gathers dust
But it still glows red
Every time it brushes your eye
It gathers dust
But his stories shift with age
Both for the storyteller
and his audience
I refuse to accept
That any day he will break
Fall off the desk
And shatter into porcelain pieces
I refuse to accept the inevitable
Yet lay awake at 3 AM
Thinking of the sound
The crack when that porcelain
Finally hits the floor
I will put him back together,
Glue in hand,
Back together until he is unrecognizable
Both in his physical form
And my memory
I will reattach his broken pieces
Until the glue dries and get peeled off my hands
But I will never replace him
Nor forget his small
Comical presence
On the desk at home