A worn out iron bolt with corroded threads,
A single glove,
A brown leaf,
A clear plastic box cover,
A yellow comb, The eraser end of a snapped pencil,
A paper receipt, A bottle cap,
A red toy soldier with movable arms and legs,
A golf tee.
Discards from life. The litany is endless. Fugitives spit out by fate.
How did they all end up where they lie?
Alone now in life.
All family and friends long departed.
No grand purpose anymore; no pressing desire.
How in the world did I end up here?
Just one of the odds and ends, ’tis me,
Washed up from the sea onto a distant shore…
A bit of debris on the sidewalk, nothing more.
Henry's Views 