They aren’t there!

I look at the hook,
and cant believe
it’s empty of jingling, jangling
keys,
Oh please,
where did I place them, 
can memory trace them?
when did I use them
how could I lose them
again?
I crawl round the floor,
search sills by the door,
and go through my pockets
in jeans, coats and jackets.
_____________

When posting that packet
at the counter for weighing,
was my key ring just hanging,
dangling and banging
on my finger?
did I linger
to search through my cash?
put them down for a moment there
– where?

… so, off in a rush –
‘Did I leave my keys here?’
‘So glad you came back, dear;
someone saw them sitting on
that little shelf!’:

no disappearance by Mr Nobody,
nor interference by a tidying Somebody,
no-one to blame but my absent-minded, dreamy self!

thankful relief
that the absence was brief.

[IP: lost and found. This is a slight reworking of a piece in 2013 for another IP]