~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Wardrobe

The art deco wardrobe was dirty, it couldn’t stand up
on its own, abandoned, it was salvage, I cleaned it,
fixed one of its feet, thought about old houses
without closets, perhaps in New York City,
a man putting in his suit, shirts, socks, wallet,
belt, the black shoes, polish, a tie or two, a couple
of photos, a paperback, the pocketknife, a few
dollars, a smoke, maybe a working man,
boots, gloves, blue shirts with the company name
on them, a lunch pail, thermos, rented room,
a hot plate, a hallway, shared restroom, subway
sound outside, a café, listening to police siren
at night, chatter, a blue neon at the local bar.

It was illuminated, a light started to shine when
I wiped the dirt off, stood it up, filled it with
folded towels, sheets, and blankets, put a TV
antenna on top, the big round oval in a
darker brown in the wardrobe at the top where
the tuxedo cat likes to be, looking out the
window over the yellow roses for birds,
people walking their dogs, carrying groceries,
holding their children’s hands with big smiles.

Here in the Sun Belt more people are getting sick,
looking for work, trying to not get evicted, live
in their car, it is hot outside, it is summer,
they are angry, it seems like we are all in a
black and white noir, things get out of control,
we are caught up in it, getting hurt, looking for
an escape, just getting by like I think everyone was
doing in this country years ago when the economy
was bad, there was war, suffering, when men,
women wanted help like they want today, some
food, money, a job, a place to stay, a movie to
watch, calm, rest, when we must make hard choices,
forgive, give mercy, when there is desperation,
people die, when we understand how flawed
we really are, in need of some lemon polish,
of hope, of being restored to use like this wardrobe was.