If I were a thing, maybe I would matter.

You could sort me into the ‘keep,’ ‘throw-away’ or ‘sell’ piles like a yard sale.

I went in the throw-away pile a couple of times.

But you came back to retrieve me.

I went in the sell pile once when you gave me away to Ray.

If I were a thing and you kept me, I would travel with you from town to town.

You would spend time and money on me, packing me up, making sure my instruction manual stayed with me.

I might get to live with you.

And if I were musical…you would play me, make time to learn me, write a song with me.

You might even show me off on Facebook or Youtube, let everyone know you had me and let them hear my sound.

If I were a thing, I wouldn’t even care if you kept me, sold me or threw me away.

I would never care if I sat for days or weeks unattended.

I wouldn’t expect a date or dinner or a movie in exchange for my charm.

I wouldn’t smile if you brought me flowers.

Or cry if you wanted to play with that ‘other thing’ again.

If I were a thing, you would use me only for your own benefit.

You would not have to do anything for me.

You would not wonder what makes me smile.

You could take me out only when it pleases you or helps you with a paycheck.

If I were a gig, you might even schedule me in.

But I am not a thing.

I am a person.

Mary Panton