Gold Rush (On Disposing Of An Old Sofa) Poem by Ernest Hilbert

What natural or man-made wonders will we
Prospect in those crevasses and gullies,
Boulders blotted blue as soggy lilacs
With lichen and cloud shadow? It’s all free:
So dive a palm down into warm valleys
Of cushion, sift through crumbs, lint, and old snacks.
Ore shed by decades of simple couch life:
Dental floss, Scrabble vowels, such nostalgia!
Monopoly hat, racy red brassiere,
Condom wrapper, super ball, pocketknife;
Star Wars action figure (a lost Jawa) ,
A fist of loose change, enough for a beer,
Proof that nothing in life gets very far:
The mother lode, an unopened Mars bar.