Not A Grand Auction Poem by nimal dunuhinga

[That we may be no longer little children tossed by waves and carried about every wind of teaching in the sleight of men, in craftiness with a view to a system of error.] The New Testament

Along this painful journey
I carry thousands of my scribblings
In the rusty pushchair.(My poor Mom brought from a junk yard in one of my frozen dreams.)
I decided to sell at least half as I want to survive.
Each a dollar friend!
Not less or more.
Dear Customer,
Please do not hesitate to ask;
Just imagine chum!
How it's cheaper than a bubble gum?

*I dedicate this poem to my dearest father who passed away when I was at eight years.Mom said; 'He's a very rare human being who wakes up in the middle of the night and checks the mosquito net to confirm that children are safe.'