Today, I volunteer
to be a relic
and claim a space
beside the Grecian urn
on the east wall.
I may not be old enough
to have historic value,
the urn and I
may be erroneously juxtaposed,
but I am here waiting for some collector
of things antique.
I know if I stay long enough
–do not decay in place–
someone will make a bid
and cart me off
to a Victorian country house,
stand me
in an upstairs guestroom
to entertain the ghouls.
There, roll my eyes in darkness
and recite "The Raven"
When next thunder calls...
Shiver my bones for spiders
in late October.
