Red elephant
Red elephant
strides in woven waves,
His days
laid out the same, year-in.
Immaterial,
but stitched in neat lines,
He stays
right where he’s meant to be.
This patched
design imprisons him.
Uneven badges
of politics and places
Say he
does not even own his home.
Someone else
picks him up, carries him,
Walks him
between signposts of their life.
One of
their belongings, he just belongs.
Labelled,
faded, some stitching runs loose,
But he
still calls with his bright red trunk.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, July 6, 2020
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