Lost Things

Sometimes,
I’ll spot an abandoned shoe by the side of the road.

Perhaps a pair of shoes.

Out in the middle of nowhere.
I wonder where they came from.

In the winter,
There are gloves and hats and scarves.
Hanging daintily from a fence post.

Perhaps their owners will find them.

I’ve seen pacifiers and well-loved toys.
Somewhere a child is screaming,
But I WANT it.

Sorry, kid.
It’s gone.

Until you happen upon it again,
Or someone else claims it as their own.
Or perhaps it makes it’s way
to someĀ giant trash pile.

The final resting place of forgotten things.

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