Poem 70: Card

A prehistoric man from the future, a contradiction I know,

grabbed the wallet left on the street.                       Flipping it open he found plastic cards and he didn’t understand.  Not one bit.

Who

would     carry plastic instead of coupons and sticks?

He swiped his right hand

and the cards fell to the pavement.

aNYBODY

there? He’d gone. Just plastic on the floor.

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