one closet
you have to open
gingerly,
just slightly
pulling on the knob
with your
knee braced
against
the center
of the door.
it's the end
of the road closet.
the big fat
t.v. that you'll
never ever use
again, and that
no one wants sits
there.
three old
comforters that
smell strangely
like an ocean.
assorted
shoes, and beach
chairs.
half broken
lamps with torn
shades. stacked
boxes of checks when
checks were
sent back for
your files.
this closet being
your file. nothing
worth keeping
and yet, you can't
find the time or
ambition
to haul it all out
to the curb. with all
your strength, after
throwing in a pair
of high heels,
you close it back
up. tightly.
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