Everyone always says
that it’s the little things
that matter.

Where are the little things?
I can’t find mine.
And it’s been six weeks.

I’ve looked in the wardrobe
and in your hair.
They weren’t under there.

I scanned the grocery isles.
I asked the old lady,
the one with a limp.

I checked under the couch,
and behind the fridge.
They must be really…little.

Or are the little things actually big?
Am in looking in the wrong places,
because someone told a fib?

Are they the wine from last
night I can still taste
on the inside of my cheek?

Perhaps they’re under my pillow?
Oh, wait, that’s the t-shirt
you left here last week.


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