It was March of 2020 when he took me from his wallet
and placed me in his front pocket…easy to reach
for when he was done with chores would walk to town
and imbibe a couple beers with friends.
But destiny had another plan and closed the taverns,
closed the barber shops, closed the libraries
and the museums and the playhouses and theatres.
The deadly virus had come to town.
And so for 140 days I went from his front pocket
to his dresser every night and from his dresser
to his front pocket every day, day by day by day.
and I turned yellow and faded and thin.
And once or twice he forgot and left me in his pocket
and into the laundry I went, got soaked with soap
and hot water, got bleached and sanitized,
and softened and dried, more faded and thinner.
Until one day the Dairy Queen opened for a trial run
and he joyfully donned his mask and walked to town
and I, so hopeful for my freedom from his boring ways,
rejoiced to think where my next adventure lay.
As we approached the selling window, he pulled
me from his pocket…until he saw the sign
demanding credit cards only, no cash, and
reluctantly stuffed me down his other pocket.
And while he enjoyed his Reese’s Blizzard
I cried a disappointed tear to think how close
I’d come to freedom and how quickly it was gone
as if touching a credit card was safer than cash.
And as he walked the mile home anger in me grew
and I vowed some revenge that only I could plan.
So when he reached for his house keys
I slipped along his hand and fell into the light.
I landed in the shrubs, totally out of sight
and soon a brisk wind came and moved me
(to someone else’s hand, I hoped)
filling me with heart-pounding anticipation.
But, alas, here I lay in the bottom of a storm drain,
muddy, torn and shriveled, finding it hard to breathe,
thinking maybe it hadn’t been so bad after all.
Maybe the dream of something is better than having it.
Focus Unlimited 