Country Auction

Now shall be sold the hoardings of the heart,
Debris from all the years of gain and loss,
Possessions somehow secret and apart
From the mob’s fury, as it tramps across
Peonies, bleedingheart, and pansy bed,
Tracking the blatant fool in checkered vest
Who holds each item high above his head
While he chants nickels like a man possessed.
Stoneware, old silver, floral lamp globes, Spode,
A roll of chickenwire, crocks and jars,
A hoe hand-worn, a shawl, toys children rode,
Embroidery, brown books, a, train of cars —
Piece after piece life shatters on the lawn
The dead no longer come to walk upon.