I rescued him from Trader Joe’s,
from those who would carve and cave in that precious skull.
They would see past him, treating him as if he were a mere tool for merriment and not a tender soul–
a squash soul.
But I rescued him from a ghoulish fate.
I patted his chubby cheeks and gave him a place of honor.
He is not one of many in a box–unknown and tossed aside by pawing, unthinking hands.
He is not tooled and set afire,
but with all parts in tact, he rests amid the color and kindness of a wheel barrel. It too has seen rough days,
but they both now rest together, weathering their final days with contemplative repose
and only an occasional bird dropping from above.
I feel a swelling in my heart, like I have done a noble thing.