Estate Sales 

They come like coyotes, like sharks,

like snakes, like hyenas, like wasps,

like soldiers, like hawks, like vultures,

like pirates to plunder the dead.

They come in cars, in trucks

in vans, on motorcycles.

on bikes, scooters, and foot, to

rubberneck the remains.

They pillage plates, glasses,

mugs, appliances, silverware,

and strange assorted utensils,

suddenly essential, --

consider coffee-tables, heaters,

folding trays, suitcases --

gather into couches and chairs,

rockers and recliners, adjusting

their feet, bottoms, backs,

sniffing for signs of smoke.

They cite tvs, cd's, tapes,

their various players, exercise bike

weights, treadmill, plunk the piano,

rifle through sheet music, strum guitars,

ponder printers, computers, fax,

staplers, punchers, rulers, desks,

hutches, file cabinets, ransack

dozens of boxes of books.

They target fake flowers, pictures,

vases, throw rugs, telephones,

answering machines, test huge shelves

for sturdiness, pick at knickknacks:

snow-globes, baskets, carvings,

candle-sticks, clocks and stones.

Patio furniture, wishing well, wind-chimes,

statues, pet carriers, leashes, doghouse,

tools, ladders, step-stools, sprinklers,

hoses, half-used gallons of paint,

lawnmower, weed-eater, fertilizer,

rakes, shovels and hoe.

They finger soap dishes, cosmetics,

linens, shower curtain, towels, then

move to washer, dryer, clothes racks,

hangers, iron, board, beds, spreads,

end-tables, shams, quilts, throws,

chests, wardrobes, mirrors, gloves,

hats, jewelry, sewing machine,

and strip after strip of orphan cloth

which, with a little imagination,

could become something useful.

Leaving, they see a wheelchair to the

left, a walker to the right,

excessively empty, and for sale.

Outside, they avoid a writhing swarm

of ants working a worm.

Glut and giddy with treasure,

they leave behind them Death,

which, with a bit of imagination,

can become nothing else.

copyright Julie K. Shavin 2009