Anne Fleming


When we moved in last year, the house a block up on the corner had a big, saggy overstuffed chair on the back stoop and wooden crates and ashtrays and miscellaneous junk. Cat-tattered curtains on the basement windows. Old man lives here, the house said. I saw him once, leaning on the porch rail, talking to someone in the yard below.

Then one week a pile of junk in the back yard and then a gradual diminution of the junk and then new piles.

Today I walked by and it was all gone. The curtains, the chair, the crates, all of it. And on the curb something that looked like a hockey puck. Even as I was picking it up I was thinking, “Why am I picking this up?”

It’s the top of a cardboard tube or film canister, leathery-looking, with the end stitched on with thread. There’s a label. It says,

The Golden Wedding
Vaudeville Sketch
Ada Jones and Len Spencer

Edison Blue Amberol Records

Dang. More cool stuff gone to the dump. I guess you can’t keep everything, but it’s my urge to want to. Of course, youtube obliges by offering up several Ada Jones recordings, though not this one. But wikipedia directs me to “The Cylinder Preservation and Digitization Project” where lo and behold: The Golden Wedding.

In honour of found things, I include two found poems from ad copy in BC Bookworld:

I Will Ask For Birds

an old jacket, her dog
quiet unlike
a Bhuddist
polished over time
who welcomes

The Garden That You Are

Who we where we
our our the our
all the daily
land that you are who of each in other
some as
beautiful is with and even recipes everyone


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