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Of little worth
A short poem about possessions.
Were the curtains to be pulled, parted, drawn,
you would see these things that needed to be hidden
from your prying eyes.
If you are to steal, then steal.
I know you will leave with nothing of worth
You’d take the laptop,
but leave the pinecone from my son.
Bag the flatscreen TV,
ignore the ticket stub for the Miles Davis show.
Pinch the iPhone or spare car keys,
miss the ginkgo leaf from NYC
Pilfer the silver-framed picture of my mum.
Overlook the pebble I painted and gave her.
The one which she loved.
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