All Our Discarded Things by Francis Conlon

Francis Conlon | October 11th, 2023 | poetry | No Comments

Poet Bio

Do I wish I’d kept that old car?
Today, it might be a classic,
But that day is gone, so far,
The image remains, just fantastic.

The junkyard is filled with old visions,
Now dim views of what might have been,
Drawing a smile, and some derision,
Now passe, no matter the spin.

‘Tho the thoughts linger, like an old song,
That first vigor is ne’er reclaimed,
Its memory faint of where it belonged,
Amnesia expands, mixed feelings blamed.

Finally, the entity is forgotten and gone,
Found later, in an archaeological dig,
‘Twill wonder—was it ever strong?
Sorry, they say, not giving a fig.

Once, it was someone’s treasure,
Now there’s no scale for its measure.

Poet Bio

Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.

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