A plain Barlow pocketknife,
ever in his pocket,
not a collector’s piece,
pristine as the day it was bought,
but a tool, as beaten up as an old hammer
or screwdriver used for prying things apart,
outer casing cracked,
nicks in the blade,
oily crud in the cracks.

Never a collector,
things without utility
of little value,
never bought fine art
or fine china or items to display –
but a tool like a plain old Barlow knife.

That was worth keeping.