Why not sell me next (Flea Market poem)

Grew up in flea markets A chicken box my bed Countless battles i designed With soldiers made of lead Tucked beneath a table Keeping away from harm I would often venture out Overtaken by the charm Hearing the thunderous crowd The fear inside me grew As i raised up the sheet That blocked against my view Two legs hindered the way Before my homemade den Looking past to see a sign I could not read back then What held my gaze intently The drawing of a man A helmet strapped on tightly A rifle gripped in hand Next to it a rocket ship But that I didn't care Losing myself in the mob The current took me there I stood before the display Marveling at the scene Of all the brand new soldiers Brightly colored green I asked the lady nicely If I could stay and play I wore my pouty face That always gets my way This time it didn't work She pointed to the crowd I fell down on the spot And cried a bit too loud My mother scooped me up She noticed that I was lost We split ourselves a coke Sold the car for the cost She set me down to bed Wiped the tears from my eyes I reached out for my toys But that was my surprise I began to wail again My mother was perplexed She'd sold my soldiers off So why not sell me next Written February 11th, 2002 © on Feb 11 2002 11:54 AM PST   0 • 10