Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Tuesday Poem

In Duvall Junk

Be ready to appear oh-so-humdrum

as you step in past the owner, the collector,

the duster, dissector & hoarder

of everything you never wanted.

It’s a dull day in Duvall

and you’re the best item to enter

all week, all year & boy-oh-boy

would that rummage-man

love to price you, set you under glass

with meat hooks and prosthetic eyeballs.

And what did you want? A snakeskin

book cover? Antique amulets?

Don’t tell him. Maybe mention plastic

dahlias. Say your poodle died

and you wanted a durable bouquet

for the headstone. Make him want to

spit you out the front door

faster than a cherry pit, just don’t

get caught between his teeth.

Light a cigarette.

Blink often.

If he could nab you, gag you —

he’d scrape the crescent birthmark

from behind your left knee.

Mark it new item $1.49, toss it

in a basket with assorted feathers.

The remaining portion of skin, bones,

hair & clothing he would bag-up and overprice.

Label you modern artifact

and begin to covet your fingernails

gleaming bluer & softer each eventless day.


copyright, T. Clear

a version of this originally appeared in Fine Madness

For more Tuesday Poems, click here.


  1. Wonderful. Your measure is pitch-perfect, and you nail the fetishism of collecting/hoarding in precise light, and with just the right touch.

  2. The junk man will do for a door-keeper of the gates of hell. You nailed it!

  3. Loved this. I could even smell the place.

  4. mmm i love the details, and the question, and the rhythm- the pointed voice.