Yard Sale of Thoughts

Sun gold, pressed to my soul.
The light wraps the day in foil.

444, on a cashier window.
Am I lucky or just daydreaming?

I touch my nose. Simon says so.
In this city, the wild dog acts tame.
Bingo was his name,
and Olly, Olly Oxen's free.

I relax into my smile, a familiar swing.

The children teach me even in storms,
 the ants still go marching.

With them, I build a rainbow within. 

The old self I no longer know,
Marco Polo of an old photo,
and when Red Rover sends another sunset over,
it arrives too soon.

I'll hopscotch through my dreams
down by the bay, and
join the tug a war tomorrow,
live to play another day.

©2025 | K. F. Hartless

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