Secondary Storage

The latch has been sticky since the winter,

but I yanked it until the plastic gave way.

A cascade of paper, a cardboard splinter,

and the sediment of every ordinary day.

There’s an insurance card from a car I sold

and a fistful of salt from a drive-thru fry.

A single peppermint, fuzzy with gold

wrapper dust, looking sticky and dry.

It’s all stuck to a receipt for ten-thirty weight

from a garage in a town I can’t quite name.

I was looking for a gauge to fix my fate,

but I found the junk that puts the years to shame.