Unclaimed Metal

The movie flickered,

a dull clink on screen,

and I remembered the box

in the garage, dust motes dancing.

His name, or someone's name,

pressed into the gray metal.

Not mine. Not quite his.

Found it years after,

just a piece of him

I didn't know what to do with,

so it went into the box.

Cool to the touch still,

if I were to find it again.

Just a weight.

A history I can't claim.