Piling Up

PILING UP

The kicker is that to belong somewhere

you have to resist the urge to kick up 

and belong somewhere else. What makes this 

difficult is the legion of very good reasons

to do just this. Idiots sit the city council; 

your neighbor burns her trash 

and the charred labels of the store brand

drift into your garden; light pollution, 

not to mention you’re getting screwed

by the electric company, the sewer

company, the sheer company of those

employed in the business of just such 

screwing, who are not employed—as far 

as you’re aware from the middling perch 

of your front porch—over there. The bike 

leans in the carport, the kickstand greased 

as the dishes which stack like possibilities

in the sinkbowl—were it to happen—of their cleaning.