two tickets

a find a coat,
not mine, deep into the well
of a dust
laden closet.

it's on a hanger
beside a
coats of my own.

who put it there is unknown.
who it belongs
too,
I don't know.

it's a fine coat though.
long,
black with buttons
still holding shine.

I dig into a pocket,
there's a brush,

a hat,
a scarf tucked within.
two half tickets

to a play. two thousand
and nine.

I wonder how she is these
days,
and if she misses

her coat, or me, though
she was never mine.