Oh,
bundle of loose batteries.
When I saw you in the universal draw
that everyone designates junk
I couldn’t help but cry.
Your disheveled placement
reminded me of myself:
still alive but forgotten
by the will of this world.
Like me,
you wait,
for months at a time
for someone to need you.
Then when the task is complete,
you get discarded:
replaced,
by a newer ideology.
A worse,
poorly made model.
Long-lasting, I am not.
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