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
j's blog 