… okay, why do I love, found objects?
Why is the tan fringed scarf
I found on my morning
— filthy, soaked, trampled in the
street beside the Saturday market —
the scarf I love the most?
Why are the black riding gloves
I picked up on a sidewalk in downtown
Bethesda the ones I wear the most?
Why is this Martha Stewart Everyday
towel, left foul and abandoned on a
bench in our town’s cool new children’s
playground by the hapless Liz, and
lifted by UD only after weeks
of abandonment, my clear favorite?
Why is this log covered in fungus,
found while walking the dog through
our forest, worthy of display?
And why is this 1982 National Geographic,
which I found in our upstate house, discarded
by some guest or other, so cherished by me
that I ordered another one for Mr UD‘s last
birthday (the original remains in the house)?
It contains an article – “The Incredible Potato” –
whose enthusiasm for the spud I found hilarious.
Throughout that stay at the house, I read
excerpts – breathlessly – to anyone who would listen.