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If I were a card

If I were a card

I'd be made of thick obviously recycled paper

there'd be evidence of something somebody didn't mean to throw away

my edges would look hand torn

but would most definitely have been manufactured

created by a sophisticated machine

engineered by an ingenious but not even remotely famous older man

I'd have been printed similarly

to look hand-crafted on a press that was old

but not as old as it might appear

there'd be keystrokes miscued but no broken words

there'd be hidden meaning in there, too

there'd be no price tag or bar code

to wryly elude it was priceless

the imagery would be obvious

perhaps a bit foggy and mystical

because we are the most vulnerable to sincerity or a jolt of adrenaline

when we are still

my words would be a little obtuse to those uninitiated

my words coupled with my images

would tickle up a smile

and tug on a thread, too

I would be short and sweet

whimsical and rhythmic

I would leave space between the lines

to underline some words with more than one stroke

and there'd be plenty of space to make me your own

If I were a card

by David Strand June 7, 2023.

Inspired by my daughter Olivia's and her friends' poetry night last night, and dedicated to my sister, Pam. Because it's her birthday. And I almost forgot to send a card.

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