Let it go, the story still in
the drop of beer in the bottom
of each bottle. Whisper it out
with water; then imagine how
each empty will tell a story
about you: Did you have
a wild party, or did you drink
all twelve by yourself (and,
if so, in what span of time)?
Imperial red. Milk stout.
The names are stories, too.
The labels. The bottle caps.
Your son likes to gather those,
click them together like gears.
What a thing to let him play with,
but there’s no denying that
each one is each one, attractive
to magpies and little boys.
Let him keep them for a while
or a longer while, bordering on
forever, so that a few years
from now, you’ll be surprised
he still has them. How did that
happen? How is it that years pass
and some small things stay with us?
Toss the bottles in the bin in the alley
to be crushed, refilled, made new.
For NaBloPoMo and PAD Challenge, Day 20 (prompt: gathering and/or letting go). Will also be for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets, once that’s up (links can be posted there each Tuesday, starting at 3:00 p.m. Eastern).