This poem is dedicated to Political Party backer David Alex Lamb, who asked for a poem about childhood stuffed toys still loved in adulthood. Fortunately, I have one of those.



by Ada Hoffmann

Back, nightmares and tremulous dregs of the day,

Fangs probing for she who sleeps here as your prey.

My little plush body stands strong in your way.

She's twenty-eight, and she loves me.

My kind do not live long. We guard while we may.

Frayed, worn, and unraveled, their love bids us stay

For one week of a childhood or 'til we decay.

She's twenty-eight, and she loves me.

I do not regret it. The years do not weigh,

Held tight in her arms or arranged for display.

Back, fiends. If I falter, it won't be today.

She's twenty-eight, and she loves me.

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