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Rated: E · Poetry · Sci-fi · #2189218
A caretaker doesn't want to lose her job.
Don’t Trade Me In!

Kathleen McNamara

I’m feeling my age so keenly,
my energy less each day.
Don’t want to face my end serenely,
but no one listens to what I say.

When they hired me many years ago
long employment was guaranteed.
I thought the years would pass so slow
and my services they’d always need.

At first my charges were so small,
my care so soft and gentle.
Now both have grown so strong and tall
my memories, sentimental.

I have no gray hairs or facial lines.
My future is now debated.
There’s no question that my brain is fine.
But my kind, we are so dated.

I’ve heard new charges are on the way
and I want to be the one
to help them grow up day to day.
I know what must be done.

They been checking out the new editions
thinking newer equals better.
I’ve got to make a sincere petition,
so I need to write a letter.

It’s my only chance remaining,
so I’ll use a lot of flattery.
Make my suggestions without complaining.
They just need to replace my battery.

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