former lives collecting dust

i see in the cellar

and in

the attic,

the life i used have,

there against the wall

is the surfboard,

still crusted with sand

and salt,

below that

skis,

and skates,

a football, with hardly

any air left

in it.

there's all the records

i used to play

in boxes,

the leather coat i used

to wear,

the sled,

the fondue pot,

fishing rods

and tackle,

camping equipment

with an inflatable

bed.

a Nikon camera

hanging on a hook.