FREED VERSE

He is a treasure chest with oaken slats.
Buried uncovered, I throw my shovel aside
Pull him from the sand, place him next to me.
My skeleton key dances in his lock.

Inside, a pyrite fortune under a crust of sterling coins.
Scoff, shrug, close the lid.
A thud echoes and I return my hand
To open again.

I fling fistfuls of fool's gold over my shoulder
My fingernails stain with alchemists' rust
Till, finally, his plywood bottom.
Knock.
Hollow.
Bang on his floorboard,
My fist breaks through.
Nothing but sand stings my splinters.