The Life-Cycle Of A Toy Poem by Max Reif

Where it came from
is a mystery
like the virgin birth.

A teacher unlocks
a cabinet one day
and brings it out,
a special thing
to be carefully
locked away again
when the play period ends.

The children delight
every time they see it.
They know it's a rare privilege
that must be savored.
They regard it
as grown-ups do
a fine wine

They begin to clamor for it daily.
After awhile it starts
to appear more often.

One day at clean-up time,
eluding the teacher's eye,
it gets dumped in a crate
with the general run of toys.

Thereafter it's no longer
kept under lock and key —
as though once out a whole night,
it's lost its pedigree.

The toy seems to thrive, though,
seemingly tired of elitism,
longing to know the common life.

But soon the children
start to take it for granted.
They grow tired
of its giving them
the same, predictable essence
day after day.
They want to extract from their toy
some new thrill.
They want a bicycle that can have a sweet taste,
They want a ball they can climb through.
They do everything they can
to expand its use —
throwing it, jumping on it,
bending it unnaturally.

A crash dummy at a test site
is not more endangered.
'Unbreakable' parts begin to snap.
Handles wear off.

Finally, the toy is simply
an object of abuse,
left outside every night
in cold and rain.
Even the teachers ignore it,
as if they're just
waiting for it to die.

One day a teacher walking past it
stops, realizes that it's become
more of a danger than a joy,

lifts it over to the other
side of the fence,
where it can await
a trip to the dumpster,
the mercy killing complete.