Garage Sale. Saturday.
I need to pay my heart's outstanding bills.
A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch,
some plastic daffodils,
the cutlery and coffee cups I stole
from all-night restaurants,
a sense of wonder (only slightly used),
a year of two to haunt you in the darkfor a phone call from far away
With a "Hi, how are you today"
and a sign recovery comes
to the broken onesa wage-slave forty-hour work week
(weighs a thousand kilograms, so bend your knees)
comes with a free fake smile
for all your dumb demands,
the cordless razor that my father bought
when I turned 17,
a puke-green sofa, and the outline to
a complicated dream of dignity,
For a laugh (too loud and too long).
or a place where awkward belongs,
and a sign recovery comes
to the broken ones
to the broken ones
to the broken onesfor the broken ones
(Or best offer)