A Hidden Treasure
Years are piled in slouching display.
Dust bobbles on a sunlit window,
yet the small ragtag shop is dingy,
without and within.
Its second hand put downs,
left to clutter;
emblematic of one life with another.
There are other items, trinkets and
baubles, fleetingly made attractive,
in the glint of a few golden rays.
I see the ivory handle of an umbrella,
its shaft and canopy half-hidden beneath
a jumble of garments.
Could it be that its grasp
is old genuine ivory?
I see a slight surface crack
on the u-shaped hilt.
Yes, not a faux simulation,
almost definitely elephant tusk.
Shall I go in,
buy this half-buried treasure
for a paltry amount,
or should I walk away,
ecological principles intact?
Today, in the hallway
it is leaning against a small table.
It is raining.
yet I hesitate to be seen with it.
"My precious,"
I mutter to myself.
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