“The Hoarders”

 

We’re tripping at the thrift store before lunch.

Compulsion is a noisy swarm of geese.

We wear the surgeon’s mask to stop the dust.

We’re rescue angels wearing pale, pink gloves.

A Louis Vuitton leather purse; a gown

for fifty cents.  An old Mark Twain is found.

A ghostly pall hangs over all debris;

their carted carcass soon to burning hell.

We’re mourning hoarders called to love again.IMG_000344_edited-2photo:Michael Bartlett