begins
at dawn.
the tables set up with
the metal folding chairs.
the same old things
dragged out
from the attic
or cellar.
books and dishes,
pictures and lamps.
a bed
with broken springs,
stuffing sticking out
for anyone to see.
on a hanger,
there's a sparkly red
dress with a tear,
a matching
pair of heels beside
it, one broken
in need of repair.
on a wobbly table
are two champagne glasses
on a silver tray.
i stop and take a look.
there has to be a good
story somewhere in there.
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