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 belong,
And a sign recovery comes
To the broken ones. To the broken ones. To the broken ones.
For the broken ones.
"Or Best Offer."
