Pastectomy

upwardgrowthocotilloclouds

The room was tense,

and workers knew

that one was one—

who once was two.

“Take that, not those!”

they heard him shout

as books were tossed

toward her new route.

Some antique art,

a tabletop,

a mop, a broom,

an empty heart.

The great desires

in things amassed

dictated drive

to excise past.

NOTE: This poem the result of a conversation I overheard when visiting a consignment store. The photo is of an Ocotillo cactus. It was taken when I stuck the hand holding my camera”phone into the midsection of this thorny plant and focused on the sky above.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s