The show is crowded — antiques everywhere.
Among the motley mix
of mortals and obsolete objects
a smooth-faced couple
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an odd-shaped implement
plucked from an umbrella stand:
four feet tall,
a handle at one end,
the other end is wire
twisted into myriad flat forms
as if a baseball bat
had mated with a
He is perplexed.
She is puzzled.
"What sport is this?" he seems to ask.
My impulse: enlighten and boost my ego —
or stay silent not revealing my ancientness
nor informing their utter ignorance.
"Rugbeater!" I offer, betraying both.
"Killed by vacuums," I add.
"Rugs are bigger than eggs!"
I leave them awed —
still puzzled and perplexed.