Carrying a well-packed
U-Haul box to the car,
you trip over the hose,
fall flat and hard, arms out,
as if to thrust a desperate gift
on anybody passing by.

The street is empty.
No one walks a dog,
rides past on a bike.
No one stoops to help.

Your life is scattered on the lawn,
in the gutter. Your photos blow
away from you.

You look at the contents
spilled from the box,
important only an hour ago,
and cry and cry
for your life and your stuff.

 

Feb. 2003