Loser

Things have a way of abandoning me.
My wallet didn't even say goodbye
when it departed from the train station
posthaste in some philandering hand.
That first cheap cellphone
I'd been reluctant to buy
sped away in a taxicab
leaving me clueless at the curb.
And somewhere there must be
an island resort where all
the umbrellas I've ever owned
come to toast the chump
they dumped in a church pew.
Let's not even mention the  keys,
credit cards and watches
numberless, nameless
one night-stands
that think they're doing you a favor
by just showing up.