The Journal

Out of Pocket

When I reached into the pocket of my jeans

I pulled out two dust balls

Out of pocket, they had two different kind of potentials

One was a bit more stubbier than the latter

one was a flimsy speck of grey

while the other was just sepia

I had imaginations that the sepia one could go on adventures and flimsily hang around life with me

living in my pocket

the speck could just be some romcom accommodation for my carpet

they were both ashy and frail

so what was I to do except

be out of pocket with them

I tossed them onto the carpet

Watching them toss over side to side

the breeze of a fan accomodate their fabrics, maybe some shared piece of clothing,

somehow they were stitched closely and separated, possibly just pieces of left overs from a dry cycle

they just tossed

left to right

right to left

it didn’t matter

they were just pieces of dust

that so happened to be in my pocket

I just plucked them away

Categories: The Journal

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