12/25

porch pirate

to unwrap the old wishing well.
one day a box of cue tips, another
myriads of chocolate oranges.
ripples across my old lover's face. 
how she lived on coins alone.
i keep inventory & make unkeepable promises
of repayment. there's always
the next life where i have decided
i will be a land lord (an amicable one).
seasons sift beneath me
like projections. always 
giving summer away. i used to fill
shopping carts with only bread
just to leave them. i called them
"ration ships." my daughter 
eats like a song bird a stolen granola bar.
there are people out there who order
in bulk. masses & masses of food. 
i wonder what it's like to move forward
with such certianty. i see a door,
any door, & i think "please stay closed."
children run up & down the sidewalk
collecting leaves. like them
i am in search for the most gorgeous one.
take a desire inventory:
a microwave large enough
to fit a skull, a doll house 
my daughter can fit inside, & maybe 
another shipment of gummy chicken feet.
i'm always strolling like the air
is mine. keep a pocket knife 
for a wife. a box must be 
discarded immediately. molted,
is how i think of them. 
opening each in the backseat 
while i park at the drug store.
packing peanuts swarm. bubble wrap.
righteous fury at nonesense
delivered from angels. i steal
a shopping cart & park it underneath 
the bridge for someone else to find.
drive home as if i am not
a disease. passing houses 
with their porch lights on.
i am only that colleague of shadows.

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