Plastic Lock

Once,
In a house,
I found a little chest.

It was fairly small,
No bigger than the palm of my hand,
Not large enough to hold many,
If any treasures,
Yet there was a little plastic,
Lock.

Thinking nothing of it,
I shoved it into my pocket,
And went on with my exploring.

On the walk home,
I took it out,
Cradled it in my hands,
And let my mind free.

When I did this,
Many ideas of what,
Was in the chest came to me.

Perhaps it was a lucky coin,
An old man found on his travels.

Or a shell,
A pregnant woman found on the beach.

Maybe even a bullet,
From World War II.

These are the things that came to mind,
As I sat,
With a pair of plyers,
I knew,
That I would not open it.

It was a chest of memories,
And secrets,
That were not mine.

 The next day,
I returned it to the bare room,
In that house,
And before I left,
I took a picture,
Of the small,
Chest,
With a plastic lock.