Poetry

The first is my window blinds.
Slats with pull cords
Between light and dark.
 
The second is my carpet.
A magic carpet of wine tracks
Notated by cannabis tacks. 
 
The third is the cigarette tin
In which I keep my addiction
To loose change and nicotine.
 
Fourth, a few fossils
I found on a beach
In primeval childhood.
 
Next to last my old pool cue.
I play impossible shots
On imaginary tables.
 
Finally, a faded photograph
In inexpensive frame
Of someone loved and lost.