I left a spiral Steno Book
in the top drawer of the desk at my last job
which contained nothing of importance,
its yellow pages tattooed with shopping lists,
the contact numbers for people
I no longer needed to call,
and a few lines of disjointed poetry.

"words, like weeds, choke out the thoughts that may have flowered in a silence"

It came back to me
two years after I had ceased remembering it.
A former coworker ushering at a friend's wedding
slipped it out of the breast pocket of his tuxedo
and I recognized it immediately.
I have since thrown it away.

07/07/2010

Posted on 07/08/2010
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