At the curb on big item pick-up day,
battered and threadbare,
sits our dingy, faded love.
Smelling of dirty socks and rancid peanut butter,
It has been re-purposed.
Now we sit in comfort,
if not in style,
watching the parade go by.
This was written in response to the visual prompt at Magpie Tales. It is also posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry. Both are great sites for readers and writers; check 'em out!