the unknown, aged bags of trash
scattered along the back porch

the untouched half-gallon of milk in the fridge
accompanied with only leftover salami

the crushed lines of espresso beans on the coffeetable
the crushed lines of    on the bathroom sink

the recycled excuses of grandma’s sunday dinners
on a tuesday

or the incessant trips to the hardware store,
how many lightbulbs need attendance each week?

i want to read the narratives of the thoughts
of someone enamored with distraction.

do they go anywhere?