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Of all the things I’ve ever lost
the one that I won’t miss
isn’t likely to turn up anywhere soon.
I’m sure I had it when I sped down Yonge Street yesterday,
had my grip on it as I entered Summerhill Station,
still held on to it while strolling down Autumn Avenue,
but as I ambled down Winter Crescent it slipped away.
Through my fingers it slid like jello and I stared dumbfounded
as it mixed with the sludge and the slush in the gutter below.
I could have saved it had I tried, but instead I kicked it
till it fell into the deep recesses of the storm drain
and got swallowed up somewhere under the water's surface,
then was swept out to the middle of Lake Ontario.
As little value as there was in it,
it held my ID, which I feared already stolen,
and it stored photographs in my memory card,
along with bits of data over years.
It’s a terrible thing to lose.
Not much chance of dredging it up...
out of sight, out of my life,
buried in the dark muddy depths,
I no longer have one of my own.
But never mind,
It’s just as well it’s gone for good
it saves me from the pain
of remembering all the things I’ve ever lost.