Not Collectable

Just bits of paper you say, nothing’s 
special - receipts, invoices, that sort 
of thing, dated from way back; you’d 
probably intended to claim them, lay 
for years in a briefcase you ceased 
using, suits hung since in the closet, 
signifies life’s chapters completed, 
accoutrements grown out of 

These mementos litter a desk where 
you write; you remember events, ‘flu 
needing prescription medication, the 
vaguely phrased bill for services that 
were useless anyway, printed receipt 
for overnight accommodation 

Why they weren’t tossed years ago’s 
a mystery, one dated 20 Dec 1980 is
fading, others near illegible; and you 
were never going back, it’s the dimly 
recalled interlude too easily erased, 
for no credible reason collectable 
© 14 October 2013, I. D. Carswell