Stanley

He had a steely presence about him.
Tall and cold and trim. No emotion did he show
Yet warmth could from him flow. A silent listening type was he.
Sometimes resting under a tree. "He can be quite a corker,"
This from a New Yorker. "Oh really!" replied an Oregonian
Stanley gave him a bunion. He went to work everyday.
Sometimes even to play. A pint sized cousin fell out of a truck
Stanley knew he was still in luck. A little hammering a bit of tapping
Good as new; well, a little tight on the capping. There was a time in a boat
When he went overboard and didn't float. Hooked from the bottom of a lake
Was no fun no piece of cake. The worse ever though to endure flatly
Was waffled by a D98 Caterpillar no Bentley. Repaired now he was hot or cold
Yet one half cup less he did hold. To garage sale he was retired
A discerning customer had desired. A tall cool specimen as he
She saw opportunity. Did Stanley blush, was he nervous?
Or did he remember he was only a thermos?

by Merry A. Berg

Other poems of MERRY A. BERG (2)

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