Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Yard Sales

Standing at another crappy old yard sale

Wishing they had something I liked.

Money I’ve got in reasonable numbers

That’s not a problem, the offerings are.

Old clothes and shoes, treen and towels

Fancies and iron tools, worn with use

On sale real cheap, yours for a pittance.

But local post cards none to be found, neither

Old photos, fragile ferrotypes, paper

Worthy of note, pun intended. That.

But now and then a brush of the fingers

Reveals, well, you know how “pleasure”

And “treasure” happen to rhyme? Bingo.

That’s why I go to yard sales.

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