garage sale. saturday. i need to pay

my heart's outstanding bills

a cracked up compass and a pocket watch

some plastic daffodils

the cutlery and coffee cups i stole from all night restaurants

a sense of wonder only slightly used

a year or two to haunt you in the dark

for a phone call from far away

with a "hi, how are you today?"

and a sign recovery comes

to the broken ones

a wage-slave forty-hour work week weighs

a thousand kilograms

so bend your knees comes with a free fake smile

for all your dumb demands

the cordless razor that my father bought

when i turned 17

a puke green sofa, and the outline to

a complicated dream of dignity

for a laugh, too loud and too long

for a place where awkward belongs

and a sign recovery comes

to the broken ones. to the broken ones. to the broken ones

for the broken ones

"our best offer"




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