Against the Symbolism of Small Losses
So you’ve lost your keys,
your life’s in ruin, over-
turning your simple afternoon.
Maybe it’s the accrual
of all those other losses—
the stolen wallet, a shattered window,
the peach sweater stained
a deep cranberry red—
that’s pushed you over the edge,
made you bleat your woe is me
to every neighbor.
What about your house? Intact.
The car: parked exquisitely
at your pleasant curbside.
Your dog: wagging a doggy tail.
But maybe you’re thinking
in bigger terms, one loss leading
to all the others, first cousins
to the final disappearance
of everything you love.
Frankly, today, it’s only made you
late for the movies, where your wife
has already found two seats together,
her head finding your easy shoulder
while a river of credits rolls along
and the music rises,
and the ticket stubs in your hand—
in spite of everything you know—
feel like crisp hundred dollar bills.