Monday, November 16, 2020

pockets

pockets were everything.
full

of coins and a few dollars.
marbles.

a black comb.

a pen knife.
keys.

a photo of mary jean.

rocks we'd find and wanted
to keep.

bottle caps.
the days
of summer were

scavenger hunts,
useless things, that
were

somehow important
in the moment.

anything found with a shine
was
tucked

into our thick blue
dunagrees.

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