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Some call them junk
because of dust and rust.
Strangers disdain their honored positions
on shelves and secure places.
Owners refer to tricycles
with tattered ribbons hanging from tarnished handles as memories,
Worn out Flexible Flyers with rusty runners
as conveyors of bundled joy on snowy days,
Unpolished roller skates hanging
next to freezers as vehicles of independence,
Wooden handled golf clubs
resting in corners as symbols of health,
Dog bowls resting on top
of old wardrobes as memorials to best friends.
I call them treasure.
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