Zippo

Someone who believes in what the horoscope says would probably say I attracted the Zippo to myself because I put it out into the Universe.

Or so it goes.

I don’t know much about that, but the Zippo did come to me.

A friend of mine gave me his after I mentioned I was looking to buy one. I love the sound it makes.

My father had a silver-colored one, but I don’t remember exactly what it looked like.

Whether or not it had an engraving on it, and such.

This one is completely plain. The only markings on it are my fingerprints now.

I feel an urge to do something to it, customize it somehow. If I paint it, would I ruin it?

I love the sound of it, I said that I know, but every time I open and close it, it reminds me of my father.

There was no closure, no final conversation between us before his departure.

There were no final set of instructions…

How do you leave your house with the door and windows open?

How do you move on from that without thinking about it much?

Published
Categorized as Poems