a small
lovingly worn
stuffed lamb
lays in the
evidence cage
a forlorn smile
stitched upon
the yellowed
white yarn

i try not
to look too
closely at it
not wanting
to see any
rust colored stains
trying not
to imagine why
a stuffed lamb
could be
considered evidence

it stares at me
accusingly
wondering why
i avoid
looking at it
maybe it senses
a broken little boy
desperate
for a hug
as images flash
of my own childhood
how my lost
red firetruck
could have been
evidence itself

i find myself
fighting tears
all because of
a lost lamb
in a cage instead of
in the arms of
the child that
had to have loved it
trying to escape
the smiling face
i cannot look at