Paper Crumbs

Faded insurance, from a car I sold years back.

A map, creased and brittle,

leading nowhere I'd ever meant to go.

Loose change, mostly pennies, fuzzy with dust.

A single, petrified french fry,

perfectly preserved in its grease-stained tomb.

A crumpled parking ticket,

from some downtown street,

three years old, folded tight

into a square, like a secret.

It was a whole small life in there,

almost forgotten.