Estate Sale

Photo by Emre Can on
Estate Sale

Like winged vultures
drawn by the stench
of smoldering carrion,

we’ve come to satisfy
our lust for
more, more, more.

unlike the black-winged
marauders of the sky,
whose manners are somewhat suspect,

we follow a more civilized
ritual of taking numbers,
and waiting our turn to enter this

sacred house of the dead.

i follow the rush to the
room with books
where pushy re-sellers perch,

shoulder to shoulder
before the shelves
in their primitive craving

for the steaming vital organs—

signed first-editions,
dust covers mercifully intact—
a Hemingway—
Green Hills of Africa—

(oh, most happy day).

appetites sated, the lions lick their chops
and king-like, saunter off.
next the squabbling hyenas,
angry at the delay, move in,
while vultures circle overhead,
desperate for an overlooked morsel.

finally it is my turn,
and i finger the bony carcass
hoping to discover the profession,
the hobbies, and the education
of the person who sat next the window

to catch the light.

. . . j
from the Wonderments and Such collection

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