Sing the song of the Camp Wojciehowicz lost and found.
We, the items your irresponsible offspring left behind,
Doomed to live a shadow life in a box because we weren’t labeled.
How could you and your child, but mostly you, be so careless?
And so we lie here, growing moldy and forgotten,
No longer to see the sun.
While our previous owners frolic in the sun
We languish here in the lost and found.
Once cherished, now forgotten,
This pair of Minions underwear belonging on some negligent fool child’s behind.
Children in summer are especially careless,
Which is probably why, just sayin’, that Minions underwear should’ve been labeled.
Seriously, how could this double-wall vacuum-insulated stainless-steel water bottle with E-Z grip handle not be labeled?
Isn’t little Jacob getting dehydrated out there in the summer sun?
His parents must know their careless kid is, like, really careless.
His bento box, nose plugs, and two pairs of goggles are also in the lost and found.
I mean, does the kid ever go home for the day without leaving half his shit behind?
By the way, if you can believe it, there are at least three other water bottles here, in descending monetary value, that he’s also forgotten.
A dismaying number of left-footed shoes have been forgotten.
Dismaying even if you figure, okay, maybe only the right one had been labeled.
We’re scratching our collective heads at so many lefts left behind.
It simply overwhelms the mind the number of goggles and sun-
Glasses; look, an expensive wraparound pair begging to be found.
Conclusion: its owner is irredeemably careless.
It must be nice to be so careless.
Are these kids so rich they can live without all of the things they’ve forgotten?
Must be, or this would be an empty box instead of a lost and found.
Presently containing four, that’s right, FOUR, of Charlotte’s bikini bottoms, none of them labeled.
Also several containers of Charlotte’s sunscreen, making us wonder how she’s faring without protection from the sun.
At this point Charlotte must have a third-degree burn on her behind.
Come the end of summer we’ll be left behind.
A pile of non-personalized Pottery Barn water-resistant insulated lunch sacks, a monument to the careless.
We had our all-too-brief time in the sun,
But now we are forgotten,
All because your kid lost us and you lacked the foresight or even, y’know, just basic consideration to have us personalized or labeled.
So as we await a reunion that will never come, we sing the song of the lost and found.
Left behind, utterly forgotten.
Exceedingly careless, mom, to leave us unlabeled.
Now we lie in a box secreted away from the sun, with, like, zero hope of being found.
Illustration by Ellen Voorheis