Old Red bag,
tickets to a movie,
and to cities with distant names,
that restaurant bill
with the delicious soup,
long shut, replaced by a coffee shop,
the t-shirt with invisible holes,
the coaster from the garage pub,
the book with yellow pages,
with aged poems,
the image of a dim-lit night,
the creased photo of you and me
almost forgotten,
now stare at me.
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