Industrial Grade

The books came off first,

Gombrich and the rest,

their heavy spines leaving

a layer of gray felt on the plastic.

I’ve dragged this crate through four zip codes,

from the dorm room to this walk-up,

a black skeleton holding my clothes,

then my records, then my regrets.

I sat on the grid to lace my boots,

feeling the bite of the mesh.

When I stood up, the red diamonds

were branded into my thighs,

a temporary mark of a life

built out of things I found behind a grocery store.