Toy bear on the shelf,
why are you smiling?
Your tag is marked for sale.
The last of your kind,
a ball of stuffing with glass eyes.
Your companions are plastic and batteries.
Little toy bear
on the markdown shelf,
waiting for a friend.
Your cloth pants are buttoned up neatly
and your paws are clean,
but no one looks at you.
You long to close your little glass eyes,
to cry and close out the world
sitting there alone on the clearance shelf,
but you were not made to cry.
Your little stitched mouth forced in a permanent smile
as you watch the children hugging heartless machines.