The Souvenir

 

You’re eons of evolution

and a hoary little dragon

all rolled into one.

 

You’re flotsam

all washed up

on the beach,

 

a museum piece

collecting dust

on the bookshelf

 

Your life cut short

to be a conversation piece,

or an ashtray,

 

or a keepsake

for some lovers’

displaced nostalgia.

 

When your hollow

sea-tide sound

echoes in our ears

 

we remember the life

you once

instilled.