Broken Dreams

The air above my head
Is thick with smoke.
People laughing loudly
Inhale the cigarettes one after another.
The musty smell fills my nostrils,
As the worn useless cigarettes
Are crushed into the dry,
Cracked cement of the vast lot


I wander aimlessly,
Searching for the one treasure,
That I am sure is hidden
Beneath years of junk and garbage.

Heaps of used ice skates,
Exercise equipment and clothing,
Cover the sidewalks.

The vendors are shouting,
“Antiques here!”
And, “Plenty of tools over here!”
Inside and out there is commotion


As I approach the end of a long row of
Rickety tables and stands
My faith in finding a treasure is fading
Like a flower bitten by the frost of spring.
Then I spot it
Shiny, pink and just the right size,
The suitcase, I want it, I need it.
And it seems to want me too,
I can feel it calling my name as I approach.

The vendor sees me
She looms over me
And says, “2 for 20 kiddo”
All at once my dreams are fulfilled and crushed
The treasure I have been hunting for was recovered
From beneath the mounds of shoes,
Old, wooden cabinets and empty toolboxes
“Thanks,” I respond
And I saunter away
Back to the car
That will take me away
From the thick, smoke filled air.





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