Metafruit

Known by all, yet liked by few

green with envy was he as brand new.

On the bench ignoring the jeers,

days spent with fellow peers.

He could cohere

til jaundice appeared.

As suns passed, the prospects excelled

they’d leave him one by one,

until only he was who lingered still.

Impatience is his infamous trait,

and with fear of being left too late, anxiety chased his age

to pursue a career before his position decayed

to which time revealed his fate

had turned dire, a curse set upon him like murder for hire,

the old man felt betrayed the day he expired.

A wellcheck issued

by the negligent keeper,

prepared them for the pending horrors of which they were eager

by peeling back his velvet, black sweater,

for the hopeful discovery of something more sinister.

But among discovering at the source

his slippery, sweet jewel was still endorsed,

preserved perfectly within his

rotting mummified corpse,

the old man found final solace through

his life having held true even long after past due.

Now you’ll see him in the evening moon

waxing or waning around your quiet commune

a solitary friend for victims of plight, a silver sliver in the night

you need not worry for werewolves in his light.