10 numbers to names i don't remember,
and a cell phone from 1999 to call them with.
a 50 in a hidden pocket, and ripped bus passes
long expired. a disposable camera in case this goes
my way: i'd like to document your existence.
there's a packet of tissues to wipe the tears for when
you say goodbye, and the key from under your mat
to let myself in when you ask me to come back.
a flask of gin to wash your memory from my mind,
and a frayed pink letter to bring it back.
a little broken ipod and piece of my soul,
wrapped neatly in parchment paper.

AN: the subject was the inside of someone's bag. i'm considering turning this into a series.