My Heart: The Jumble Sale

There was a table that stretched from the kerb to the door and it was heavy and aching with the past twenty years, and from some carefully folded napkins and a heap of dug-up bones that we found one sticky summer under hedges. There was a stack of magazines and some dog-eared novels steeped in laughter, tears and a read to rags aura that was radiating out into the street and the crowd. I saw a photo of us both and remembered swigging from the bottle and smoking until we swayed and couldn't stand. There were flashes of trainers, bass guitars and cd shops and thinking we were one on one with the world. A microscope lost in some damp dark cupboard and a draw full of cd's and video tapes. There were sheets of pulled off wallpaper and posters, pogs and midnight snow and aftershave and stars and broken office chairs. Today I saw my life for sale on trestle tables long and wide and the people gathered round with sticky hands and pound coin smiles. I wrapped my arms around these things and screamed for resolution but it's gone, I saw them slip away between my fingers like liquid through my hands and I couldn't catch them. New memories push the old away, so I archive them in objects and people's faces because it's just easier that way.