Leavings

Contents: must of ticket stubs
handed from hand to hand to
hand, pencil shavings, hasty
travel agglomerate. Pills.
Human mast, machines.

The life-smell of our old house
greeted me on the doorstep.
Saturday’s emigration,
a good sweeping and scouring
couldn’t scoop it out.

I sat alone on the sole
fragment of furniture left.
A window, gauzy curtain
lazing above the vent. Sat
still, quiet, open.