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A Guitar Pick, a Rattle, and a Poker Chip
December 12, 2016
The room is off the corner of the house,
Trapped in the follies of time;
He’s made sure of it.
He needs no machine, no magic words
Just the room.
If he closes his eyes, feeling blindly,
He’s a young boy again, and a new father,
And a rebel, and a gambler, and a long-haired guitar player.
Everything he once was, he is again in the room full of
Treasures time forgot.
It is only when
His withered eyes are opened again
He feels his age,
Time and time again.
© Erin T., Wichita, KS
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