No one makes any real money
no one spends much pocket change
they just exchange sad stories
who gives up a childhood memory?
an obj’dare from a lost romance?
a blanket that held the baby?
the carpet where the old cat napped?
“my friend re-gifted that to me”
it stood guard the corner table collecting dust
but there was no dust
a whirligig and wind chimes that create symphonies
“who’s that knock’n on the door someone’s ringing the bell”
memories cut like the cord
connecting one’s child
memories out the door