Barry Spacks

I'm smitten
by this somewhat-used toothpick,
the anteater-exactitude

of its curving nose,
the slightly upward swagger at the tail
and the shaft's planed squareness in between,

so it's not just any toothpick anymore,
it's mine, it beams a whiff of me
like my chunky leather cap

my thin-line Kinko's pen
the black shirt I'm so pleased to wear
I take its levi buttons anywhere,

to funerals, the hottub place,
because I love my things. Don't you? I mean,
love yours? C'mon, confess.