Something In My Pocket

SOMETHING IN MY POCKET

Ages ago

You cradled roasted coffee

Now you're wrapped round receipts,

A frayed membership card or two,

My last evidence of life in Tennessee.

(That driver's license will expire soon, so don't forget to replace it before my birthday)

Silvery folds pressed and sealed

Together like the Tin Man's favourite pamphlet.

Kept that way with stark white tape

That flexes and stretches

Restraining the joy of a payday

No longer having anything to do with coffee

Unless I'm buying one.

You're a silver badge of consumerism,

Of identity,

Of do-it-yourself accessorizing

Not a lover's heart, or a closet, or a pantry,

But when it's opened it feeds me

Clothes me

Comforts me

With the multitude of Things

When just words won't do.