[poem#27] The Vulnerability of Garage Sales

A garage is not necessary. All
you need are folding tables, round
colored stickers, a box or two, some
rolls of quarters for making change.

And you need the things that you
are willing to bid farewell: the outgrown
t-shirts, the dirty toys, the forgotten
books, the ignored elliptical, the extra
furniture.

Also you must say goodbye to the memories
of popsicle stains after a walk to the park,
the train left outside in the rain once the drizzling
starts, the books left facedown on the coffeetable
so their spines are ruined.

You must sit and watch as strangers paw through
what was yours and what is no longer,
as things leave for 25 cents, a dollar, taking
with them the past free of charge.

But its worse to be left behind, for then it's sighs
reevaluation, and finally black plastic bags
dropped off at the nearest Goodwill drop site.
So we sit and wait and hope everything
and nothing is bought.

(there's something here. it's not here yet. but it's coming.)