Hoarding as a Disease
Seeing the shows on TV
Where they show people
Who live with stacks of things
Piled so high; magazines
And newspapers for example
They only have tunnel-like
Hallways in their houses
To get around through
They hoard stuff so much
They cannot bring themselves
To throw one thing out
It makes me very nervous
Being a packrat of sorts myself
With everything my kids
Ever wrote or drew or glued
Still in boxes stacked downstairs
Our basement is for sure
Uninhabitable, a storage bin
I tell myself but it does have
Three bedrooms and a finished
Rec-room and that’s a bit much
Still, I cannot bring myself to pitch
Any of those stacks anywhere
Maybe I’m not so much
On the verge of hoarding as
Fully invested in being lazy.
And
Dismantling a Life
We didn’t expect to be so sad
Taking apart his office this way
We knew we would be doing
It soon anyhow; he was retiring
Next year, but now, he was leaving
Early, due to a falling out with
Management – not the first time
He has had to leave a place
Over a matter of principle
And not the least of the reasons
I love this man, but I am aching
For him over this move – I feel
Badly about the way he has been
Treated here in his final place
Of employment, know they have
Made a colossal mistake and wish
They were ballsy enough to say so
It has been difficult enough for him
To ease into retirement, to rush
Into it prematurely and in anger
Is not ideal and worries me; he
Does not need more reasons
To be bitter, although he does seem
To be taking this latest blow much
Better than I am, perhaps I am
Projecting my own anger on him
Maybe this is for the best – if he
Has to go, he will, there won’t be
Any more indecision, maybe it’s
A good thing – yes – maybe it is.
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