If these wallets could talk ...

What secrets have ye,

Leather pouch?

As I sit

Upon my couch.

Cow’s were once

Yer transportation,

Sayin’ “Moo!”

With consternation.

Sad, you’ve gone

From bovine capers—

To stashin’ cash,

Plas-tic, or paper.

Cards are now

Yer basic staple;

Some plain white;

Some tan, like maple.

Photographs,

Old bus tokens;

Past receipts,

Things unspoken.

Ticket stubs,

Lost addresses;

Mini-diplomas—

Lotto guesses.

Yer my faithful

Pocket buddy—

’til my Birthday.

(coming Sunday)

Then I’ll dump you,

Like old trash;

Move my plastic,

& my cash.

I’m grateful that

Ya served me well,

But’s face it, Bro:

Ya really smell …