We kept marbles in old Mason Jars
pilfered with grandma’s blessing;
magical, spherical, glass-ball jam

Rabbits feet, matchbooks, clam shells
soon took on the aroma of grandpa’s
Dutch Masters, stored as they were
under the that cool, flip-top lid

Our baseball cards were always safe;
under-the-bed vaults, a neat row of
rubber-band secured P.F. Flyer boxes

glass and cardboard Fort Knoxes.


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