The Collector's Gene

The desire to have more than just one…the need, indeed, to have many…
And, if you can’t admit that it’s time to quit, and that more than enough is plenty,
Yet every one you stumble upon is the coolest you’ve ever seen,
Then you’re doomed to acquisition…you’ve got the collector gene
 
It might be art-if you ain’t rich, don’t start-stick with spoons and thimbles or movie lobby cards…
Stay away from those Picassos and Russells, Remingtons and Molliards
It could be cars, or cast iron, or watches or baskets, or jewels…
What it is, the collector gene turns reasonable folks to fools.
 
You walk into dusty junk shop – and, my God- there it is…
A true, authentic treasure…so you start the provenance quiz:
Is that 1910, or older? Who made the son-of-a-bitch?
Is the edge still good – is that American wood? Ain’t that a broken switch?
 
The light still works…that’s original paint…
You can see the tooling marks.
Does the thing still spin, when you plug it in,
Or do you just get a shower of sparks?
 
Asiatic, Oceanic, Iunit, or Berber…
Tiffany or Febrege’, signed books by Edna Ferber.
And, if there’s a crack of space left on the shelf, you know you’ve got to fill it
With just one more number seven, covered Griswold skillet.
 
Pendletons, Beacons, spurs and chaps
Saddles or Bowie knives…
God help you, please…not Barbies…
Or, worse yet, trophy wives.
 
Stickley, Mission, Art Deco…Shaker, Duncan Phyfe…
You can’t resist that one you missed, to save your doggone life.
Navajo or Zuni…now, that’s first phase, for sure…
#8, Cerrillos…some day, I’ll take the cure.
 
But, mine-cut diamonds, Bakelite, great, old vintage wine
To lay down for decades, growing ever-more rich and fine.
Pre-1930 triple O guitar, pearl and 12-fret neck,
“How much is that…oh, my God…well…will you take a check?”
 
You simply cannot help yourself, it might just get away,
Then you’d lay awake in dark regret of that long-lost, misspent day.
Haunted by that patina, that perfect curve of line…
Now it’s your sad lot, you’ll never get a shot at another so rare and fine.
 
So, you cough up the cash, and haul it to the car…
And think, “Where the hell am I gonna put it…and how many is that, so far?”
But, the secret is condition and that rascal sure is clean…
So, you smile a lot at the deal you got… when you fed your collector gene.
 
Ahh, the desire to have more than just one…the need, indeed, to have many…
And when you can’t admit that it’s time to quit, and that more than enough is plenty.
But, every one you stumble upon is the coolest you’ve ever seen…
You’re doomed to acquisition…you’ve got the collector gene.
 
Jerry Faires
Los Cerrillos, New Mexido
July 3, 2007