Last Tuesday
Justin’s mother arrived unexpectedly.
Justin’s mother arrived, rapping our door unexpectedly.

4pm, this is what happens.

Rhonda next door produced a key to our floor
where Justin’s mother sat
sipping tea
to get back.

The house smelt like her foulest mood and cinnamon. 

There is a wardrobe
she said, thumb and index finger meeting in circles.
There is a wardrobe and I’ve decided I feel you must have it.

No one in the family had wanted it because of its size.

(We have 5 keyboards and a piano. We were
slow saying no to Justin’s mother the day she was throwing
her husband away.)

This wardrobe had 13 secret draws rattling 13 separate times.

We couldn’t get it though the front door
on Rhonda’s roof tried windowing our way in.
Rhonda’s husband stood on their lawn in pale khakis
deeply unimpressed. But at us, not the widow. 

In the end we
had to ask a carpenter friend to saw our present problem down to size.

She (lady carpenter) said it was  
like nothing else she’d seen that  
it would hardly stand another dismantling.

I wanted to use all the left-over bits
so here, this is for you
a piece of someone you might miss
looking for a place to fit
call home. 


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