Thursday, March 12, 2015



Relics from a day, long past.
Lamenting their daily use.
In tender hands find obtuse,
it's once toil and mission.

A stroller, a bike, 
rusted soldier,
broken lamp light.
The days of laughter and fun,
blue skies, gentle breeze, and sun.
Inside the mildewed wood of an
abandoned, failing garage.

Stacks of yellow travel magazines,
foreign places never been.
Mice have pitched their tents in these.
where they travel now, unseen.

Broken glass of a frame, wrinkled photo, holding hands.
Unnatural smiles of a woman and a man,
too bright of light, frozen in a finders view.
"Who are these people, the man looks like you?"
Hanging lantern, on the wall, 
lit the way in a rock crack splinter,
one chilly day in Fall.
Marked with lairs of sleepy ones 
who would stop and lay there, all winter.
A rusty stove for an outside meal.
Tangled string of a fishing reel.
A net that failed to catch,
the one that got away.

In the back, we made our way.
Under canvas, it was placed to stay.
The reason for this quest from afar.
In it's majestic glory, sat Daddy's car.

"Not so bad, body's clean.
The motor will need what you would glean.
Tires gone, nothings perfect, as they say.
Push her out so she can be seen.
Not so bad when all's considered,
push her out to the light of day."

Cats and mice, both babies born.
Broken glass, seats are torn.
Everything's where it's supposed to be.
"Mostly used, always in good company."

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