A locked chest
Keepsakes.
A catalogue of the people
Who came into your life.
Those who stayed
Those who didn't.
A trophy, a medal
Once were proudly placed
Polished, burnished.
Now unwelcome reminders
Of bygone days
Of halcyon days.
Of potential gone to waste.
An album
Out spills the musky scent of nostalgia
And faded photographs.
From the dusty confines of plastic sleeves
Which the years and endless rearrangements
Have frayed beyond repair.
Solemn faces arranged by height
Preserved forever from domestic violence
From hypodermic needles and bottled rage.
A family portrait
Seven smiling faces behind a facade of glass.
Betraying nothing of the frustration
Three hours, seventy dollars worth
Of re-shoots and tantrums.
A perfect representation
Of modern family.
Gleaming veneers
Rotting wood.
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