Pocket Fuzz And…
by Odin Roark

"Fine used clothes,"
The handwrit sign proclaims,
Its scotch tape turned yellow,
Holding firm for maybe
Another season,
Window shopper entertainment or,
Halloween bargain-hunter’s classic find.

Haberdasher's dummy,
Donned in black
With top hat and cane,
Decked with placid expression,
The mute echo of once finery,
Now but an expressionless welcome,
Save the ever faithful
Tinkle bell alert
Announcing seekers of...

Racks of past lives,
Some threads worn bare
Offering limp remembrance of
Celebrations past.

Others washed clean,
Starched at full attention,
Their hangers like unblinking color guards
Holding rigid their watch.

In the back,
Frayed collars huddle reluctant,
Their dress-cinched-tight history
Awaiting the catacombs of Goodwill,
The shopping cart of the homeless.

Cooling the "all" of time lived
Whirrs the table fans,
Friction's ever-content wisdom,
Grating alert consciousness,
The learning of white
Through the experience of black,
Sending dust mites scurrying
For passage.

Some,
For travel.
Others,
The wise
Finding sheltered attachment within.

Pocket fuzz of closure,
A surreal ticket to somewhere,
The soft feeling of travel,
Knowing another renewable cycle of life’s residue
Creates journeys for tomorrow
For the next someone,
Providing they are willing to imagine
Death’s residual might be a conduit
To another’s yet to be discovered destination.