My Piles Are Staring At Me
My house is perpetually full of stuff I do not need.
Diapers? No.
Hair bands? No.
Pens that do not work. No.
Patterns? Who sews these days?
Material? No.
Stuff I have dragged in myself after dragging other stuff out.
Like stuff.
Stuff so similar, it was silly to exchange it.
I am looking at an Easter banner that I took down and put on
The TV set last April or March.
I did not even see it again until
This second, and it is November.
My piles of stuff is staring at me.
Glaring at me.
Laughing at me.
If I had to identify what was in the pile in the corner
Right now or a guerrilla would machine-gun me, I would be murdered.
I would be luck to guess two things in that pile.
Death might be preferable to
Cleaning out this stuff.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment