That Goddamn Red Tricycle

Every morning I wake for dawn
Plowing through my morn
I pass by the railroad tracks that stretch on and on
But right there, to the side of the brick house
The red tricycle never leaves

It always stays put, never moving two inches
It was shiny
Now it rusted real brown-red
The red tricycle did

And I'd never seen it noticed
The dust just piles thick
On top of it's rusted shiny metal
Why won't somebody take off the box on its seat?