The Pull Toy

You squeezed its leash in your fist, It followed where you led: Tick, tock, tick, tock, Nodding its wooden head. Wagging a tail on a spring, Its wheels gearing lackety-clack, Dogging your heels the length of the house, Though you seldom glanced back. It didn’t mind being dragged When it toppled on its side Scraping its coat of primary colors: Love has no pride. But now that you run and climb And leap, it has no hope Of keeping up, so it sits, hunched At the end of its short rope And dreams of a rummage sale Where it’s snapped up for a song, And of somebody—somebody just like you— Stringing it along.