the move

the move
is hard.
the packing,
the boxes,
the rolls
of tape, and
the magic
marker writing
in bold black
letters where
each should go.
but you
can't take
everything. alot
must end up
in the trash
at the end
of the driveway.
you've lost
interest in
the pool table,
the old enormoous
television, that
too tight suit
you wore five
years ago to
a funeral, or
was it a wedding.
you wonder
why you kept
so much junk,
those tires,
and computers,
a handful of
old cell phones,
wall phones,
vhs tapes, and
cassettes.
layers of decades
now lay to waste
by the move.