A Pole in a Good Location: A Poem from a Unique Perspective

I’m just a pole in a good location,

Nobody cares about me.

They staple me and poke me without hesitation…

Oh, why can’t they let me be?

Yes, I’m just a pole in a good location,

Come read me and you will see

Yard sales and puppies are a common combination…

Did you find anything that you need?

Yes, now I’m a pole in a good location,

But I remember when I was a tree.

Giving animals shelter was my vocation,

My branches blowing in the breeze.

Oh, it hurts to be a pole in a good location;

Rusty staples and nails cover me.

Having no bark gives me a strange sensation,

And when it’s cold, I surely do freeze.

How I wish I was not in such a good location,

Like my friends that live down the street.

They offer me sympathy, but no salvation,

And are lucky to be staple-free.

If only it were possible to move my location

To somewhere that people don’t see,

Then I would be rid of my deep frustration,

And filled with elation and glee.

While stuck fast in this good location,

I glance up at the sky and see

Flocks of birds overhead busy with migration…

Oh, to be wild and free!

I fear I’ll always be a pole in a good location,

Never back to a care-free tree.

So I try my best to go on a mental vacation

When people won’t let me be.

Maybe someday I will leave this location,

When there’s no longer a need for old me.

They’ll put a new pole up without hesitation,

And put me out of my misery.

About this poem:

I’ve been sitting on this one for over a year and came across it the other day. I figured I might as well share it. I know it doesn’t have perfect rhyme or meter, but it was just for fun. I wrote the start of it in my head while driving to work, after seeing a corner telephone pole that had clearly taken years of abuse, covered in various signs, nails and staples. I wondered what the pole would say if it had feelings. Why did I wonder this? Don’t ask me. Maybe I’m overly empathetic. I also have one of those brains that strange thoughts pop into quite often. I usually just entertain them for a bit and promptly forget them. Sometimes, though, I preserve them in writing, to my later amusement and/or embarrassment.

I suppose there are other poles that might make an interesting poem, such as a flag pole, a fire pole, or a pole in a gentleman’s club, but I will have to leave those versions to someone else. Anyone up to the challenge?

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