A Mind of its Own

The old worn out toy
Played with till breaking point
Still used frequently
A mind of its own, bouncing this way and that

Smooth slippery surfaces,
Worn, hard and rubbery
A round spherical ball
Scuffed and scarred
As worn as old leather
A bright pink turned dull
Dirty patches cover the surface

Bringing memories to my life
Sounds of winning losing
Boing, bounce, slap, crash, cling, smash, nooooo
Screaming parents
Rounding us up like a heard of sheep
Sent to play outside
Another fierce competition

After the game people scatter off
Left alone the ball waiting, waiting
For the next competition
A few days later we rummage through
‘Our junk’ scavenging for the ball
Finding it and screaming with triumph