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For Mickey, Minnie, and Socrates


Tuesdays and Fridays men come
To collect trash from the curbs on our street.

When I leave on those mornings
The garbage is still in our garage–

Not because I forgot, but
Because I do not care enough to remove

The stink from our house on Marydale Drive.
The man who lives with me inside is innocent–

He forgets; he does not decide to let it linger
As I do. I am a secret scientist: I hypothesize

It will take five months to obscure the path
From the door into the dungeon of our house.

It has been one month–
Four more to go.

Let’s see if anyone notices the smell
Of soiled pads and cat piss,

Vegetables that browned before they left the fridge,
Meat that went bad before it met the stove–

How long will it take the mice and rats
To build their city of gold in our walls?

This entry was posted in: poetry

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