I did not loose my handbag today.
That was yesterday. Today it’s
‘Oh Shit. And that’. Lost words
Hurt the most, more than
Money, credit cards and stuff
Inconveniences that fill the basket
Of the day: ‘Please hold the line…
Press 1 for sales
What number for habitual loss?

The words of that short story trapped
In time, that feel impossible
to find again or re-create
Or the jotted notes of others
words that touched me then
Useless to a hedgerow now.

I did not get a parking ticket today
The warden said ‘Next time.’
I almost hugged him in the rain.

It does not ease with age
To loose, I muse. More regular, in fact
Along with an acceptance of what is.
Someone loose with stuff.

November 2014

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