Twenty Mule Team

Six weeks on top of the refrigerator,

still taped, the yellow-and-white box

dented on one corner where I dropped it

in the dollar store parking lot. It bounced

once before I picked it up. The list was:

mold in the grout, disposal smell,

the white crust on the showerhead,

and one more thing I can't recall.

Four things. I read an article.

I bought a box. That's the whole transaction.

Next to it on the fridge: a charger

for a phone I replaced in August,

a takeout menu from a place

that had a fire and didn't reopen.

I see the box every morning.

I have not opened it.

I think about opening it

the way you think about a phone call

you fully intend to make—

the intention so complete

it almost counts.