Collection

The truck has rattled down the street

and left a silence quite complete.

I walk the drive to check the slot,

hoping for the thing I’ve not.

The metal door is cold and thin,

I reach my trembling fingers in.

No check, no bill, no glossy page

to help me manage through this stage.

Just a layer of gritty grey

and a rubber band that’s seen its day.

It’s snapped and dried into a curl,

a dead thing in this empty world.