Friday Poem

In This Life

the blank inside old keys
locks misplaced
in the bright moon

we must allow ourselves
odd hats
and place signs
where they might be seen
by unknown family

sometimes the dance
is secret

like chipped pages
from obscure 1950s

things we barely notice
provide clues
but not everything fits

though it is hard to forget
the music of gone years

a face glimpsed once
in unlikely circumstance

or that pulpy
mildewed smell

by Jeff Weddle
from Poetry Feast, 7/11/19