adventures in dysthymia

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Crates, a poem

Crates

I have placed yesterday on sale,
half-priced until we close. After
that, it goes into the dumpster

with the wilted lettuce and moldy
cheese. Let the homeless root
about and take the broken pieces.

I have no use for them. Crates
of tomorrow already wait
to be unloaded and placed on shelves.

Stephen Brooke ©2013

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