Passing by a place I used to hide,
presents for people to find,
looking nonchalantly at the exact nook
behind a stone sign
I had hid a ink painting and some music
for a girl that went to Europe
and hid from me
by accident
for months
The area was all clear of rose bushes
that made it a good hiding spot
and where I hid my plastic bagged wrapped present
(the plastic bag to protect it form the weather)
was another
plastic wrapped,
present?
Not by me, although I stole it on the spot
People were coming up the path opposite of me
I didn't care
Rushing up the hill
wondering if magic existed in the world
what could be in this package
was it for me?
If so,
how?
why?
I galloped up the hill away from anyone curious
unwrapping it and -
finding that it was just
a 40 ounce bottle
of Miller
empty
in a paper bag
in a plastic bag
wrapped
tossed at my
hiding
place
This picture has nothing to do with the poem, but, holy shit!
