what is it to be lost, forgotten, misplaced
unsure of the future, what hands will slip you into a dark drawer,
what tongues may lick you, how your skin will be peeled away.
purchased, then forgotten in a post office envelope,
of value, yet discarded, what mystery
like an underemployed engineer in a world of need.
she left five sheets in an envelope, thinking we'd been
transferred to a box, we were smaller and her fingers
left us behind in the dark.
$34 left behind, no chump change, 100 postcards without
postage, you'd guess she would return to look for us.
and she did, clumsily, not seeing the envelope, going to
the counter, glum-faced, to buy another 100, another $34,
only to finally spot us in a bent envelope.
she was happy,
now we are 200 stamps for 200 postcards.
Casablanca: A City Nothing Like the Film
3 hours ago