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You, with a handle on
things, your vacuum
snorting the last dust from the corners
of the den, how easily pleased you were
to clean a home you wouldn’t remember
living in. You scalped the ornamented shelves
with one quick swipe and the ballerinas,
the miniature lambs shattered against
your smack. The paint boys spackled
the nail holes, lacquered over your childhood
in one flat eggshell coat.
The town came to shop and see what had been
hidden in the old house. The yard, trashed
with keepables: television, mica
table lamp, bassinet. The beautiful
neighbor misheld your old bassoon, but you
stood back, admiring her manicure.
In the end, you filled your car
with picture albums, commemorative plates,
and the clothes you took to Goodwill.
Garbage men came to take the dumpster
the next day. And you, with a handle on things,
left the houseplants scorching on the lawn. |
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