shop my moms yard sale

you left me to bargain

in the bric a brac bin

with a rocking horse disposition

and crocheted mittens

despite the gnomes 

their lacquers

the ducks-in-a-rows

i won the day

found treasure antiqued in

a sorry bucket

i switched the stickers

you'd say

i knew the lucky colors

you'd say

whats the price

of a music box to a deaf heart

its worth the tickling ridges

and the teeth of the harp

say this spinning can last 

only so long

as wooden fruit can grow

so you left me to the bottom of the binners

with a receipt book

and a roll of belgian francs

and the ziploc idiom

that all jewelry is costume

jewelry beneath a certain standard

of goldness