A rap sheet.
A rent cheque.

A library card.
A union card.
Birthday cards on the refrigerator.

A credit report.
A driver's license.
Unsolicited mail-order catalogs.

Dental records.
Planned Parenthood bills.
An insurance ID that works sometimes.

But the only thing that proves
that this life was ever lived
is a photo from five years ago:

Two stubborn lovers
naked from the waist up
laughing in the yellowed sheets
of a queen-size hotel bed
on the Maine-New Hampshire border
with no knowledge of the ending.

For that I will save documents.
For that I'll play their game.

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