No Reasonable Offer Refused
Sept 8 2008


My bowling trophies
went for 50 cents each.
Now, on some fancy mantelpiece
or a glass credenza, someplace
they buff some impostor’s résumé.
All his gutter balls
forgotten.

And old yearbooks
signed by friends I don’t remember
when we all had bad hair and worse pretensions
now looks impressive
on the bookshelf of some model suite,
or propping-up a wobbly table.
And will, no doubt
come back to haunt me when I’m famous.

Even my box of hoarded papers
is gone.
But nostalgia is over-rated;
and anyway, who would want to read
school essays, mostly C's,
or ancient tax receipts,
or old letters from lovers who left
all saying it’s them, not me.

Or the wedding invitation she sent
I couldn’t bear to attend
without a date.
I imagine they’re still together,
3 kids
middle-aged
putting on a little weight,
as you’d naturally expect.
Because I like to assume the best
for people.

* * * *

A yard sale is like starting fresh
— where everything must go,
and whatever’s left
gets carted-off,
disposed of.