little toy truck
a poem by  
  keith  o'connor
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For some strange reason I remember my little toy truck handed down from brother to brother and finally to me.
My Little toy truck 


my little toy truck 
made in the nineteen thirties 
of thick heavy metal 
red painted but long turned rusty 
passed down through my brothers 
in my third year of life 
as a traditional gift 
to truck my treasures 
bits of string 
small stones 
chips of wood 
my little toy truck 
always at the end of my 
long pull string 
hauling my treasures 
talking to me 
in the secret language 
of my brother's and me 
through wheels that 
squeaky - squeak - squeak 

Keith O'Connor 
July 2001 


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