Sticking out of my pocket

Sticking out of my back pocket

is the memory of my first time

riding a bike when I crashed

head first into a lamp post, a small

pack of arctic wolves, a dark red

rose bush with the morning dew on it.

Sticking out of my back pocket

is that one Easter when I ate too much

chocolate, the Kingfisher Kids

Encyclopaedia, a jar of happiness,

my best friend, lots of dust,

and of course my parents.