Loose Change, a poem

Loose Change

Regret, the loose change

of my life, is left

in a jar on the dresser

and never counted.

Each purchase, each time

I thought I needed

this, or thought that

would make me happy,

gives me another handful

of coins to add, to clink

one by one against

all I had hoped forgotten.

Stephen Brooke ©2013

A little quick piece, not very ambitious 

addendum, the next day: As usual, the poetry I post here is in early draft form. I can see all sorts of ways this might be revised  and rewritten. Right off, the first word (regret) should probably be dropped.