preparing for what might never come

as i cleaned out

the apartment my father lived in for 36 years

i was

amazed

at how he threw away

nothing.

not a cracked dish

would leave

the cupboard,

not a chipped cup,

or bent

fork or spoon,

were ever tossed.

ten pairs of old shoes

were under the bed,

waiting to be worn.

shirts i'd never seen before

hung in the closet

next to the uniforms he

wore during the war.

so many rusted gardening tools.

he stored water bottles,

stacked to the ceiling.

peanut butter in barrel

sized jars,

gallons of ice cream.

loaves of bread were

frozen in the freezer.

empty containers were everywhere,

folded bags,

plastic and paper,

string and rubber bands

wrapped in balls.

the next great depression

was not going to catch

him off guard.