Kenny Rogers

I saw the place that you put the things that matter to you.
Accidentally, actually.
And for the past couple of years the only content that you contributed were just pictures of your own face.
Your face in the bathroom, your face on the road, your face next to your friends, or your face in new clothes.
And then when I got to the end of your things- the ones that you shared for their relevancy- I noticed that this month last year
the final thing that you held dear
the last image you’d saved there
was a stack of poker chips.
That’s it.
Not your face, not the room, just what was in front of you.
You said as the caption that these stacks were just your particular view
at the moment, not much to it- but everyone else who saw the place doesn’t know what I knew… Or what I do,
which is make the most of insignificant things…
I was there that day that you took that shot.
I wasn’t in the frame but the reason you had so much of what you got
was because I made that happen, and it was funny to see,
that nothing else is posted after that, and technically
the last thing in your important memories that you felt was share-worthy
has something slight to do with me.
Of course I know that it means nothing…
This anyone else could see
And you shared money, obviously, clearly-but also me.
Of course I know that it means nothing…
And I don’t want to go back to that place to see what else you do
I guess I’m just satisfied enough to have ever been
the smallest part of your point of view…

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