Where do you go?
Where do you go in my time of need?
Deep in my bag,
or did I drop you on the way back?
Where do you go
when I need to get out of the cold?
Rustling around but not to be found.
No clicking, no jingling,
no luck with locating
that shiny buck toothed
glory that will lead me to safety.
Often it’s simply another dimension.
Warping from the counter
to a place that’s nowhere near,
or, as in this case,
teleporting from my bag,
which I was sure I put you in,
to my pocket,
with sleekit cloaked ease.
In fact, it’s something that’s just too obvious to contemplate.