I Open my Lost & Found to Find

Thank you to Alex Dawson for the prompt I used for this poem! Anyway, without further ado . . . 

“I Open my Lost & Found to Find”

Wait, is that the tape measure my husband

(and I) misplaced when he worked on two

shows at the same time? I just bought one!

Whelp, at least I can measure the three feet

by four feet we’ll need to cover the fireplace.

I tip my hat to the little red scotch bonnets

that make my fingers pucker the way those

pesky scale insects sucked away at the tissue

of each branch of my pepper bush. Oh, the

bottle that still reeks of neem and soap, too!

Another kind of oil glistens somewhere, some

diamonds of sweat and salt pooled from all the

parking spots I crossed to avoid the temptation

of AC under a Target on my back, even though 

it was the closest to the fast charger for my car.

How’s liquid not leaking out of this box? There’s

all of the odd potions and tonics I cobbled on the

Starbucks app. Was it performative or just a bit

deranged when I put raspberry syrup and a fresh

banana in my iced matcha latte in the song of a

Midwinter Friday I’d listen to a new tune? Hold

up. The box is streaming sound, now, too. It’s

that uncanny valley of an AI DJ that quantified

how much I’d tolerate from Spotify before I’d

drop them like an ice cube for peace of mind.