The Crispy Key

I used to own a crispy key
In shape of childhood memory.
I cannot find it anymore.
Perhaps, I ate is long before
The attic shut and gathered damp.
Perhaps, I stamped it on the ramp,
On which the doggies chased my friend
Until she turned and put an end:
Assertively, she threatened, “No,”
And watched the doggies’ fashion show.
Perhaps, it has an elephant’s trunk
To bathe on days of college bunk.
Perhaps, it’s not a crispy key,
But just a warped reality,
Like memories are bound to be.

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