The artifact

Found a glue stick

In the office drawer.

When I just moved in.

Who left it there?

At what period

was it forgotten?

The glue is now hard,

Has seen better days.

Its milky , waxy constitution

Replaced by un-grated

Parmesan feel.

Who was he,

My forerunner?

Aside from

the forsaken glue

I have no sign.

No scratches on the desk,

No heart shapes,

with arrows through.

No plaques

or cries for help

No old photos

No bones.

The sandwich-board

Desk is old,

the fibers flaking

Soon it will soften more

And break.

The existence

Of the man who wielded

The glue stick, erased.

Who was he?

Is he among us,

Sitting next door over?

Why did he leave?

What did he hope for?

Will the axe that parted

Him from the glue stick

Will part me as well?

Maybe it was even

before his time:

A legacy from

a primordial teacher

Who is even further

Down the road...