Cardboard Boxes By The Door by PW Covington

Home,
For a change
In my place
Packing a bowl, in my blue-lit
Living room
 
Boxes,
Empty
Sit by the door and leak nostalgia
They brought books to me in the mail
Books of poetry
Written by friends
Rum bums and
Mystic saints
 
Empty,
I used to fill boxes this size
With baseball cards, then
Postcards and love letters
Movie ticket stubs
And other paper
Souvenirs

Tan,
Cardboard boxes
No hope for re-use
I have little need for pulpy tabernacles
In this age
Of pipes and bottles and
Insomnia drenched
Texas nights

Gone,
Something has been lost
I do not even try to fill
The empty spaces
Begged by discarded, cardboard boxes
Stacked up
By my door
PW Covington is a disabled veteran and convicted felon.  His work has been published by both universities and underground 'zines. He travels widely, but lives in rural Texas with his bulldog, Chesty.

PW Covington is a disabled veteran and convicted felon.
His work has been published by both universities and underground ‘zines.
He travels widely, but lives in rural Texas with his bulldog, Chesty.

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