Beneath a pile of rubber bands

Beneath a pile of rubber bands

and bills I cannot pay,

it sits within my shaking hands,

a ghost from yesterday.

A heavy cat of solid brass,

a thing I didn't buy.

The years are thick and move like glass,

I cannot tell you why.

I took it from your bedside shelf,

a heavy, stolen weight.

The green is growing on itself,

I found it far too late.