Remnants – A Carpet Tragedy

I know you are out there, because I think I remember you
you existed once, I am sure, because I think I remember

a new breed of archaeology:
the archaeologists digs in the schoolyard of his youth
sifting through the first layer of the yard
an old candy wrapper, perhaps his he thinks

and whether it is or not, he believes it is and therefore it is
he thinks how lovely it must have tasted, but it is not the same
he doesn’t recall the last piece of candy he ate
and this wrapper no longer has a tasteful memory

sifting more, a twisted paperclip looking like a person
and he recalls how he once twisted paperclips
to look like animals or people or phallic objects for laughs
those were the easiest ones to make, he smirks

digging more, finding many lost pieces of the schoolyard
forgotten matchbox car named friends,
asphalt superball competitions,
green plastic barrette crushes

and the crush for the moment is memory
he had many future wives when he dreamt their life ahead
it was clear then, how many kids they’d have, the car they’d drive
the date they’d marry, but now they are nameless, faceless

the yard has been thoroughly dissected
mounds of little treasures lie all about
larger dirt piles surround those treasures, and now
the bulldozers can come in and make way for a new tract

he thinks:

I know you are out there, because I think I remember you
you existed once, I am sure, because I think I remember…