Found Things

I am the alley the cat dragged in.

I am the aborted pine tree on December 26, I am the expired fever reliever, the hand mixer that will no longer mix, the Mickey Mouse watch that no longer ticks

in time to your world’s changing current.

I am the blown tissue, the threadbarren sweater,

the shrunken shrink-wrap, the smashed security jar still grieving

years of pennies and nickels;

I am the consummated cereal box, the empty soda six-pack,

the unusable dust-sucker-upper;

I am the box of styrofoam snow that used to make Sunday mornings glow

with Tom and Jerry or some other unspeakable relic of long-defeated barbarianism

I am the open love seat, bleeding fat fleece from the undone seams

that used to hold firmly the shimmering asses

making what was then called love.

I am all the things you tried and failed to make forget

the promises

you meant only as a business maneuver

I am found by others, the crows or the boys looking for plastic bottles

hoping to be worth a few cents for a few precious minutes

at best, they take, they sell me for that chance

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