Monday, July 31, 2006

Today I Threw You Away

In the papers and letters
The stacks of square notes you scrawled
The physics books, the math books,
The dated pamphlets in triplicate,
From the hard candies to the soft socks
I hauled you to the dumpster and threw you away.

Today I coughed what was left of your dust
And sneezed it out into your cave
The white walls your pre-grave
Silent from countless clicks and stares
Your folded chair cold
Despite the hours you played freecell

Today I threw out your old life
Your first wife, your first son
Paid one of your parking tickets
Chucked your debris:
The one-armed reading glasses
The 1945 yearbook
The broken ukulele

I squeezed you out
I wrung you out
I washed and wrapped you
And put you in a box.
I threw you away.

I crushed what was left of you,
Crumpled what was left
Smashed and folded and shredded
Your post partum remains.
I destroyed what was left of your chains,

And today
You are free to go.

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