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.
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
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