Forgotten Remembrance
I am that thing you put in your pocket.
You know I'm here sometimes;
but most often, I'm forgotten.
Gum wrappers and lint
get more attention than I.
I've been through the washer and dryer.
No, no, don't worry, I'm hanging in there,
maybe not as sharp
as once I was, but I suffice, I promise.
Sometimes your hand,
the skin,
comes into contact with me, we pause
stare off.
Muscle memory, flex, stretch, reach, stop.
Your hands retreating.
One day you're handed a penny,
am I so cheaply bought?
You pick me up, put me to your lips;
I dispel across ozone.
bounce off an ear.
You do not pick me up again,
the ground is cold compared to your pocket.
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