Lot
I. Bible Story
Someone’s wife, no - husband,
dreaming of a soup
to dip the spouse in.
The years taste like her
or cream of artichoke
with a little lick of sin.
II. Readied for Sale
How casually you sell my mistakes
to recipients of saleable complaints, tie
an off-white luggage tag to my big toe,
ready me for auction. I despise that
but I love the thickness of the paper
and the tag’s hole protector -
a sticker like a polo mint.
I love its old fashionedness.
III. That's your lot
It's not what you have,
but the end of what you have.
It is not who you are, but the end
of who you are. I am reluctant
to accept it, like the moment
when you move house.
Close the last door
on an emptied room,
register disgust and marvel
at the dust surrounding
where the frames of pictures
lingered with indifference.
You should move, but then
you'd start to build your lot again.
© 2010 Richard M
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