Thrifty at the SPCA

A second hand item.

Second to what?

Second to none other than

That voice inside your head.

As if somehow box store items

Are pristine in their past.

Untouched by experience.

As if that whisper of “that’s so mine”,

Knows the difference between new or not new,

You know when it’s yours,

Take care of it and enjoy it,

Part with it when you no longer do.  

Each item gently holds past.

Yet firmly present right now,

Silently waiting.

Synchronizing time.

Morning and afternoon.

Open to possibility.

Even when the heat index is high,

Thick, with no promise of rain.

Evening thankfully promises Delta breeze.

For now, chitchat and pitter patter  

Of folks arriving eager to find treasure

Always a pleasure

meeting fun people

Kindly providing order amongst possible chaos.

Caused innocently by enthusiasm, of people and things

So many things. Right there in reach.

Fun things. Play things. Cool things.

Maybe the excitement of items eager for new homes,

Combined with human zest to possess items

Creates that thrifty magic.

Magic so big that one day a lady

Went to the SPCA Thrift Store on her way

From her first guitar lesson.

An uncovered guitar in the back seat.

Looking for a case.

There it was.

Dusty black exterior with red inside.

Leaning. Synchronicity at its best.

$8.00 and it was hers.

“That’s so mine” was bouncing all over her mind.

It’s always nice to feel new again.

Stop on by, on your way,

Anything is possible at the SPCA.