I found your Olympic gold medal
while I was cleaning in my childhood bedroom.
I almost vacuumed it up.
I can’t help but wonder how it got on my floor,
How you must have not noticed its disappearance from your empty apartment.
I wonder if during one of those fights we used to have
I slipped it in my pocket, thinking you never deserved it.
The medal sits on my old desk by a trick dog coin bank.
The dog holds the coin in his mouth,
jumps through the hoop and hides the coin in a brown barrel.
This childish desk is a circus.
I can see the levers and
your Olympic gold medal is fading in the sun.