men born after you’ve died will throw away your treasures

a thousand digital pictures of some kid – a baby, a boy, a young man

the usual rubbish – half finished job applications

an open portal to a bank account that looks a like an open wound

a bearing that clatters

uninteresting people celebrating a life that nobody cares to watch again, glasses raised

a couple of pictures nobody needed to see, taken drunk, forgotten when the moment passed

and now a thousand moments past

a lifetime’s treasure

a battery that won’t hold the charge


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