Two score and seven years ago, a tray
of Norse design as wedding gift we got.
We didn’t choose to entertain that way;
we used the dish to clean and hold our pot.
The giver was my brother’s college friend.
When we divorced we didn’t disagree
about its placement on the list we penned –
that tray spent all its future time with me.
Continuous in service, it’s remained
a feature of my leisure and my rest.
Ingrained with vintage resin now, grass-stained,
I take the tray for granted. I’m impressed
with useful beauty bearing time’s attack,
but yesterday I felt the tray’s first crack.