The Party of Lost Things

Where do lost spoons go?
As their colleagues are
and put away,
what of the ones who plot an escape?
Desiring a life of servitude no more.
Maybe they’ll fall behind the furniture
be swept underneath –
out of rotation
until someone stumbles upon them
(or not).

And what of those missing socks?
Who dissapear
when you swear you just had them with you.
Fallen into the couch,
or lost in the duvet.
They, too, hide well,
and when you can’t find them,
you chalk it off
as another mysterious vanishing.

What of beanies and scarves,
bookmarks and notes?
And all the other things
which fail to stay…
nowhere to be found
just when you need them most.

Perhaps they all slink away,
gathering for a secret party
where they laugh
at their oafish humans
who were careless enough
to let them go.

An odd gathering
of all shapes and sizes,
a junk collector’s treasure trove of prizes.

And when they’ve tired,
fun all expired,
off to sleep they go,
deep rest
by the sniffing and slobbering
of pets
who find new playthings –
expose the exodus,
bringing them out into the open once more,
to be met with sighs of relief:
“There you are!”
before being washed,
put away,
and used once more;
wondering if they’ll again meet
their colleagues
down on the floor.

Where do lost spoons go?
Now you know.
So take a little more care
when you wash tomorrow.

Image source: Pixabay

4 thoughts on “The Party of Lost Things

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