Spring: Cleaning
All around, there are
scraps of paper and
post-it notes. Scribbles,
full of sentences
that wish to make me
a better man:
Buy a toothbrush with
stiff bristles, for wiping away
the lies told on any given day.
Borrow a handful of nails
from next door, to mend
the pickets on a broken fence.
Clean up the backseat. Trash,
and the clothing not belonging
to me has piled up so high,
that it’s hard to see out of
the back window- It’s just,
memories of those I’ve left behind.
And the notes are always
illegible. Too slanted or
backwards to read.
So I gather them to build
a fire, thinking maybe this
is the only man I’m meant to be.
