And as soon as that toy broke, the first one
the threads around that button frayed and split
suddenly,
as soon as a tree had its trunk pulled up from the earth from a rope tied to a rumbling, violent truck:
a cause for concern. A dismay, a disordering. A leaving, a gone. An intransience-ing.
An embering of color. The inheritance of error. The universe ends at the road. The iris contracts. This little red fire engine isn’t one anymore; this is no longer a thing, even, this is just a broken, and this broken needs to be supplanted by a new.
