We
made it
into a verb,
that hunt for
treasure. Some
Saturdays, my mom
and I would take the
paper and circle the yard
sales, paying close attention
to the ones in the upscale parts
of town. We went in the morning,
before the afternoon storm rolled in.
Amazed at what people had to discard,
a brand new tent and high end sleeping bag,
a full set of scuba gear, barely used, the ten speed
I then used to get to work for the next ten years. Most
of what I had, I found by chance. And even now, after having
sailed far away from those days, I so value the accidental treasure,
making something useful again, and the thrill
of knowing that eventually
you can find anything.
Editor’s Note: “Yard Sailing” is best viewed on a desktop/laptop screen. The formatting of the poem will change on mobile screens.