Overdue

The dresser moved and the dust began to fly,

revealing the secrets I told with a—well, a lie.

Sarah’s name is still there, loopy and bold,

on a cover that’s starting to grow some gray mold.

The silverfish ate at the spine and the glue,

turning her pages to lace—it’s quite true.

I told her it vanished in the back of a truck,

but here it is, mocking my luck.