Losing marbles—a common event.
When others lose theirs, few lament,
but when we lose our own, though very few,
we never notice, but others do.

Of those remaining, not yet redacted,
some roll away while we’re distracted.

Memories are rarely carved in stone—
including favorites we call our own.

Ken Gosse usually writes whimsical, rhymed verse. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, later in Pure Slush, Home Planet News, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Spillwords, and many others. Raised in Chicago suburbs, now retired, he and his wife live in Mesa, AZ, with rescue dogs and cats.