things left behind

when you climb
a ladder
forty feet
into the air
and lift yourself
over the hot
black edge of
the tiled roof.
with nothing to
hang onto,
you stop thinking
about falling
and killing yourself,
or pondering
what you'll
leave behind,
your will that hasn't
been notarized
that magazine
under your
bed, and that one
dvd hidden
in the closet. that black
whip riding
crop and blonde
wig. those handcuffs.
and blindfold.
you no longer think
about the money
you'll leave
to others or the bills.
or the dog
looking out the window
awaiting your
arrival home. you stop
thinking about all
of that and go
back to work.