Blinds drawn but skewed,
broke down trees around
the back, a trailer’s load of
thin scrap metal in the yard,
stake and dog chain in a circle
of bare dirt, no dog, no car
in the driveway; nothing to show
who was here except debris
and junk and none of it
odd enough to connect to 
a unique person. Anybody
could have left this stuff here
and run and no one would be
the wiser, could have been
you, could have been me…

closed my eyes, remembered
that shambles, opened them and
looked around at these shambles,
re-shuttered my eyes; it remained 
clear that I am the shambles, I drag
the shambles 
with me. Scrap and mess
all over and too old to run from it now.
Got to sit with it. Got to sit in it
and examine hope and lethargy
and my lazy, lazy living. Got to choose
to clean it up or leave it, head to
the next world with none of it, 
its utter inanity a perfect epitaph.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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