Dust Jacket

old leather
jacket pockets inside and out
zippered, flapped, and
plain
larded with museum tags;
faded restaurant receipts
for meals enjoyed, and not;
a crushed penny from the zoo
hand-cranked, a tiger, if you look
closely;
a religious tract—
pocketed rather than pitched, to not offend the chestnut-haired girl who pressed it on you
—shares a silk-lined pocket
with a jiggle joint flyer
of another brunette whose affections
are purely transactional;
a ticket stub has worked itself
into the lining,
you don’t remember how the movie ended,
but the joke you shared over the popcorn;
looking for change
your fingers close
on a key card
from a hotel misadventure
so for a moment marvel
at your own capacity;
and oddly, a cat’s eye marble
rescued from the gutter,
chipped but still bright.
you wear your relationships close
against the chill of November