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.