Saturday, July 19, 2014

Cardboard Boxes

the move is done,
from may to july,
from country to city,

cardboard boxes taped full
of stuff you forgot you
ever owned or regretted
on sale
had to have
garage sale deal

better off without
if only there was an available

for the bullshit.

endless forms and papers
that protect banks and
mortgage lenders
from losing their precious pennies
they want to lend to you with
a smile
and a blue ball point pen.

borrowed and leased
vehicles, some packed efficiently,
oh fuck, let's get this over with,
shifting contents with every turn
and sudden stop, damn, this 
is a big truck to empty
again, again...

you get it.

now, we're all happy
to be in the Village that's
really a city
with its back end butted
that east cleveland blight,

they say.

I don't know.

seems pretty good here,
that popular buzz about
diversity -
every gender identity and race with
healers and poets,
transcendental dopers, old lady
dog walkers scooping
fresh fecal lumps from the neighbor's
tree lawn,

young black couples - boy and boy,
girl and girl - holding hands skipping
down the street
singing a song, they think
oz is up the incline and around
the corner, they
don't care (why should we),

the overstuffed transvestite top has
five o'clock shadow and
wants to fight
who says otherwise,

and too fast drivers from stop
to stop sign
on the phone 'cuz Lord knows
your life is so small you
better fill it with blah-blah-blather
like a
epicurean got his hands on an
all you can eat without getting
sick buffet.

the boxes are now
in every room of the new house,
undecided about where they'll stay
or go.

burn 'em, I say,
for a fresh


  1. I swore the last move would be my last ... we shall see. If I should decide otherwise, I am tempted to do just what the last line suggests: burn it all and start fresh. Your poem captures this so very well ... good to see a new poem here.

  2. Yes, a new poem on the blog. It's been a while because of this all-consuming Move. It was enough to churn out micropoems on Twitter during this period.

    Thanks for stopping by again, TE. I haven't seen Calamity lately.

  3. My gosh moving is such a pain - but I have done it so often, it sometimes is an itch that wants scratching - loved the scenes thru the neighborhood- nice -K

  4. Hello K, and thanks. The move begins to be forgotten as we settle in to this vibrant neighborhood of creative folk and local businesses. I'm enjoying everything about our new house post-move.

  5. As time buries us, I find the prospect of the burn easier every year, wonderful piece.