A torn, ragged, old leather coat,
wrinkled and creased, my first love note.
A picture of my brother, his last before the war,
and the number of a lover, whose messages I ignore.
One shot glass, from my first rum and coke,
and an empty lighter, from my first smoke.
An obituary from the paper, about a man that I don’t know,
and photographs of places, that I didn’t go.
A ‘staff’ t-shirt, from my very first job,
from my first new house, a bronze door knob.
My poetry filled notebook,
a dry noodle-I never DID learn to cook.
A wedding ring, from my second divorce,
(a ‘seperation’ shortly took course).
A tire from a bike, that I never rode,
a bent house key, not from MY abode.
A screw from the treehouse, my dad and I made,
the first ever paycheck, that I was paid.
And hanging on a necklace, a Heinekin beer cap,
from my first trip to New York, a rumpled map.
Years ago it went missing, a key from my laptop,
And a bracelet made with wire, wrapped around a pop top.
last couplet didn’t fit:
These memories, come hard and fast,
my first shallow breath, and my last.
maddy~~~~~~13
Just to let you know, its ©!!!
pretty cool
but i don’t like to comment on peoples poetry its ur own a poet can write something that others would never understnad becuase it comes from the heart…
