Someday
Tossed my wet socks in the “wishing unwell.”
Which had a moldy smell.
The toilet paper roll was on the ground.
Next to my lost and found.
When we lose sight in this rugged terrain.
The suits and ties we collected are in vain.
Who would interview me again?
For a job or for insight within?
It’s not that you donate all your stuff.
Which would already be tough.
It’s when your grandkids want your old guitar.
Which only took you so far.
The stuff they don’t want anyway?
Wish I could save it for “someday.”
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