Autobiography of a Zipper

I was broken midwinter in the dryer. I can still perform my duties, but not as gracefully. I do not know what the future holds. Will I be replaced? Repurposed? Windbreaker urges me to chillax. He’s not self-conscious like I am. It’s good to be part of a team. I enjoy learning new things. There are 366 days in a leap year. Tacoma is south of Seattle. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been spending most of my time in the backpack. The backpack is cramped and smells like applesauce. Fortunately, I can sleep anywhere. In my dreams, I am a desert snake, riding across golden sand.

The Glass Cage

I stood in front of a glass cage filled with plants and rocks. “I don’t think there’s an animal in there,” I said. “There’s an animal,” said a zoo volunteer. I saw plants. Rocks. There’s an animal in there, the zoo volunteer said, I thought. In front of the glass, I stood with the volunteer. I don’t think a rock is an animal, I thought, or a plant, but the zoo volunteer said in there, animal, I thought. “Zoo volunteer,” I whispered. Don’t think, I thought. In the glass we stood, filled with cage.