No, really - I want to know.
You stand there, no higher than my weak knees,
Sentenced to gaze at the feet of strangers
And breathe the thick suburban air.
You have lived here much longer than I have,
So I was wondering why you stayed.
I see that you are a little broken these days
But I remember how you held me fast,
That one time,
When I took that awkward phone call out the front.
I'm sorry if the weeds at your base make you think
That I don't think about you -
You are a part of my home.
Maybe you think you could protect me,
But I'm not sure that that's what your job is.
You look more like a territory marker
And I am king.
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