Perfect Condition

By Adam Marcello
June 5, 2024

You lay there across the concrete,

Broken and disfigured.

Your eyes blankly stared,

As the clouds passed by above.

But then I see your phone,

Your watch and your keys.

Not a dent, not a scratch.

Good for sale, freshly made.

The car toppled over,

With shattered glass strewn about,

And the radio still playing,

Your favourite songs on repeat.

What a shame, what a farce.

Pieces solved but the puzzle lost.

Such is life, a sick joke.

A twisted tale played for laughs.