My Bollard

A withered hat mounted atop a sturdy cardboard tube
Paper mache wrapped around and persistently caked with layers of paint
Meticulously glued together
And marked with creases
Bold red and a complex blue, smudged with pale yellow and a select brown
Once crisp lines and vivid paint
Now have lost their charm

The shades contrast sharply, although it is often overlooked as bland
Up on the bookshelf
Collecting dust, unused and unseen
As the months have passed
The erosion causing the paint to flake
And slowly tearing the newspaper

Shallow dark eyes
Poorly drawn by the hands of an amateur
The iconic bushy moustache
Sits in the underneath his plump nose
Several painstaking months of effort
All sheathed underneath hardened acrylic paint
Only to be ruined by time and fall to pieces