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 or two to haunt you in the dark
for a phone call from far away
with a "hi, how are you today?"
and a sign recovery comes
to the broken ones
a 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
for a place where awkward belongs
and a sign recovery comes
to the broken ones. to the broken ones. to the broken ones
for the broken ones
"our best offer"