The Lucky Writer Poem by everette johnson

The writer who found me, the writer is the one that
picked me up like I were a prize he just won out of a box
or like something he bought at a store at first I
thought I was just some old thing on a string waiting
for someone to get me like a little dog
at a dog fair looking for a home at this point
something to be a part of seem's
like I've been waiting for ever you know like when
the summer comes and people are driving on the express
way car after car in line from the street light to the other side
of town what is it like being a chain a hanging from someone's
neck knowing that your part of something great that you help
to make happene.