Surplus
I’d ended up with two,
one given me as I went in,
the other left on an empty pew.
It seemed not right,
as we followed on,
fumbling in pockets for
loose change, to leave it
lying there alone.
I propped them side by side
against the kitchen tiles,
one, front first, with dates
and photo beneath an arch
of roses, the second
a more recent shot, when
everything had changed.
Except her smile.
Dry-eyed, wipe away dust.
Time’s come to add one
to the Memories file.
Take the spare to the garage.
Hesitate.
Toss it in the recycling box
with yesterday’s news.