IN THE ATTIC

Upstairs is my box of memories.

The things that Natural Selection

has been kind to.

There are papers

from high school

that my biographers will need

and a bear costume

from Halloween

during more stable markets.

I have a card to a club

I'd rather not name

unless under subpoena.

There is

upstairs

in the attic

a bucketful of history

which exists nowhere else.

My biographers may need

my autobiographers certainly shall.

My grandkids - fictional, as yet -

will love it.

It takes up so little space.

Is it really too much to ask

to have a past?

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