not sci-fi, our attic

someone climbed into hyperspace
and left a notebook there.

just a dusty 70 page spiral
filled with poetry so
meticulously
handwritten.

now it waits in the stale plenum air,
nestled between broken plaster and
scrawls of "all work and no play..."

someday another set of gruff hands
will pick it up, flip through to see it's
just poetry,
and drop it back in the plaster.

but I know. I know
the last page holds a plea
that wasn't so carefully penned,

and the first page an inscription
never meant to be read.