The Short Happy Life of Things
Purging the old, seeking the new;
curbs lined with treasures headed
for the local landfill.
A microwave here, a stained sofa there,
some Dr. Seuss books across the way
accompanied by an ironing board.
Down the street a bicycle, wheel missing
in action nervously awaiting the crushing
compactor blades of the trash truck.
Every curb contains midden, disposables,
impermanent goods of lives disinterested
thrown away to make room for new clutter.
Gleefully I lift my treasure from the heap;
a black forest cuckoo minus the pendulum.
I imagine bird songs in my sleep.
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