Regular Poem: Garages

9 Aug

I have peeked
into your garage
as I drive down our shared street.
I have slowed down
and craned my neck.
I have moseyed into your yard sale
just to survey your digs.

I bet
you have three shop vacs
just like me.
I bet you have
ancient coffee pots
and antique jack stands
and twenty different
half inch box wrenches.

It’s as though
when they built these houses–
that are not even a subunit or a suburb,
not even governed by an HOA–
they cut them all from the same
granny cloth.

And we all
the same items and the same
and we are all the same
but living in different bodies
with different jobs
and storing all our same granny stuff
in the same garage–
a version of the same garage,
spreading out

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