What secrets have ye,
Leather pouch?
As I sit
Upon my couch.
Cow’s were once
Yer transportation,
Sayin’ “Moo!”
With consternation.
Sad, you’ve gone
From bovine capers —
To stashin’ cash,
Plas-tic, or paper.
Cards are now
Yer basic staple;
Some plain white;
Some tan, like maple.
Photographs,
Old bus tokens;
Past receipts,
(Things unspoken.)
Ticket stubs,
Lost addresses;
Mini-diplomas —
Lotto guesses.
Yer my faithful
Pocket buddy —
’til my Birthday.
(come next Sunday)
Then I’ll dump you,
Like old trash;
Move my plastic,
& my cash.
I’m grateful that
Ya served me well,
But face it, Bro:
Ya really smell …
