Inside were pictures of your small family
You were so young your hair dark brown
You had been born in 1953
Your winter birthday was stamped on the plastic
Of a license so recently expired
I was so tired as I walked through my door
I let all the contents of your wallet on the floor
I thumbed them in the dim light
An old stick of Juicy Fruit
A crumpled receipt for a pair of leather boots
I keep my cards together with a blue rubber band
And with a free hand I search in my pocket
For pieces of pieces of paper and change