Anton Truck-Lindahl sends us short poem reflects on one small and seemingly insignificant object embodying the potential of eternity.
Swiping and wiping wouldn’t work here,
On the glossy mountain the crumpled receipt
Forms atop the ottoman,
Peaked by tiny ink men,
Contorting their bodies to shape the numbers telling me
How much I spent
and
How much I lost.
There are trillions of them:
Failures of the past
Promises of the future,
Stretching out on an axis
to eternity.
Swiping and wiping wouldn’t work here,
On the glossy mountain the crumpled
receipt
Forms atop the ottoman,
Peaked by tiny ink men,
Contorting their bodies to shape the
numbers telling me
How much I spent
and
How much I lost.
There are trillions of them:
Failures of the past
Promises of the future,
Stretching out on an axis
to eternity.
