THE CHINAMAN

Dressed in very fine silk brocade,
strung on a woven loop of thread,
he rested in a jigger glass
in my Grandmother’s colonade.

Possession clearly the intent
of every child who entered there
to selfishly keep, not give back
the miniature Chinaman.

He measured just two inches tall
but in the mind of a small child
he took on greater dimension
and came alive engaged in play.

He faded some as years passed by
perhaps forgotten by many
but for some he was a symbol
of childhood imagination.

Then came the day when Grandma passed;
treasures and trinkets were auctioned.
Chinaman was placed in a box
among senseless, meaningless junk.

The auctioneer called for a bid
opening at a buck fifty
two people tossed bids back and forth
while I watched eager to jump in.

Two dollars, two fifty, then three
I wondered how high it would go
When I heard the auctioneer call
“Going once,” I lifted my hand.

Would four buy the box, maybe five?
The treasure inside was worth more.
Only I knew the real value;
A rare priceless treasure, no less.

The bidding revived, up to ten,
involving three others as well;
but at twelve they dropped one by one
Leaving only me and one more.

My final bid stood at thirteen
Would it be a lucky number?
The other bidder shook his head
At last the Chinaman was mine.

Now fifty seven years later
I see my grandchildren covet
Just as I did, the Chinaman
Dressed in very fine silk brocade.

K K McClelland
Revised June 21, 2010