things wear out

i stare at the hole

in the floorboard

rug

of the new car,

and think to myself

what someone said to me 

once.

you're so hard on things.

and i am.

i wear things out

i wear people out.

relationships. love,

marriages.

my coat with the elbows

thread bare,

the soles

of shoes skinned down

to the last layer.

the mattress

in my bed, curved to my

weight

edges frayed.

the light bulb no longer

coming on

with a twist

of my hand, the shade

no longer

giving shade with

a broken

string.