Poem: Skeleton in the Closet

These bones jiggle all around.
Making noise, clanging around. 
This foot must’ve been deformed.
See how it bends at the wrong place.
These hands look funny too.
See how the fingers twist in the mighty wind.
This is a sign something is terribly wrong.
There is no dreaming here.
No one’s thinking the scarecrow is frightening.
The birds still hang around and don’t leave. 
It hasn’t done its job this year.
Neither has the bone collector.
No more shovel, no more cans.
These bones are piling up with nowhere to go.

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