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basil Oct 2020
my knit sweater holds tears in
i fantasize about the old man that might have worn it
he used to smoke, i think

i dream about his mahogany pipe
with it's european engravings

in another life i might have cried at his funeral
but i just have his sweater

and i promise to remember him
go thrifting with me. we can tell stories about all the things people gave away.
Susanna Aug 2020
My mind is like a pawn shop.

Most people wouldn't care about all the odds and ends in there.

But if you do, and you can make a fair exchange, anything in there is yours.

So shop around any time,

You never know what you may find
Poetry Addict Feb 2019
Flow of fabrics
Screech of hanger on rod

Roughness of wool
Flicking through one sweater
To the next
Butterfly fingers
lins Sep 2018
a steal really
so much for so little
an amazing treasure
among lifeless others

chosen for its beauty
threads perfectly imperfect
worn and stretched
a comfort fit

holding a story unique
to a previous owner
taking it for my own
history in my hands

once home with me
it becomes new
beginning a fresh life
with a stolen history
a poster
here showed
her captive
still knows
her radiant
looks replace
her opportunity
where looks
were here
only to
browse and
dispel our
fear of
brazen and
trim her
eyes there
with antiquity
b e mccomb Oct 2016
i don't feel very
whole these days

that specific sticky
dusty feeling all over
my palms neck tilted
sideways running the
tips of my fingers down
rows of plastic cases

"oh are you over
there looking at
music again?" you
sigh but it's not
the kind of reproach
i need to defend
myself against because
you know i always do it

and i don't think you
really mind how long
i take because once in
awhile i'll find one that
you like or that i'm so
excited over you can't complain

and then we wander
through rows of
scratched dressers
winding our way
around old doors and
molding strips that had
a better life once
chairs and desks
dinette sets and hutches
a little bit of this
a little bit of that
a little bit of something special

laughing over
strange items
ugly clothing
even art pieces

and for an hour or
two i can feel the
stuffy secondhand air
between us clear

we usually don't
buy anything or if
we do it's not much
because neither of us
happen to have very
much extra cash

but once in awhile we'll
find a fifty cent mug
potato coasters
a solid wood end table
or a nice cd rack
a piece of someone else's past

and i'll load the
furniture into
the van if you let
me keep the change

i like thrifting
because looking at
items with unknown
history puts the
present into

gives us a reason
to go out something
to laugh about over
the dinner table

to agree about how
nice that cabinet is
or to disagree about
how ugly wicker is
instead of what
the other is feeling

because everything
is subjective whether
it's trash or treasure whether
it's mine or the next person's

and i don't feel very
whole these days
but on the other hand
i'm not yet in
the attic of the salvage
shop on the corner
and neither is
our relationship
Copyright 10/18/16 by B. E. McComb
At goodwill Buy the Pound
every day is black friday
Hundreds of soccer moms line up their
white sneakers on a black and yellow caution tape line
zombie over it streching for yu-gi-oh cards
wait for hazmat suits to wheel out eight bins full of trash gone treasure.
When the bins are locked in place the hazmat suits go back to pack another load

The air horn sounds.
You do not want to be anywhere near that caution tape line when this happens.
At goodwill buy the pound
If you're not part of the fight,
you're part of the floor.
They need to find their
puzzle peices lost in cat liter
Johnny really needs
every single nerf dart
Johnnys grandma is not the only elder throwing elbows
varacose veins are curb stomping dads hauling consoles to make a quick buck
Skinny College aged video game collectors swim through the mom-pocalypse
raid the stashes for disguarded NES cartridges
Jo-ann grabs a twinky boy by the black graphic hoodie.
Tosses him back into the horde
lunges for a barbie doll hidden under some wires.
This is not a place for nice children.
If you aren't willing to push around some nanas
you will leave covered in nike prints.
This place turns people.
Ever look at someones mom and think
She looks like she's always wearing a mask.
She is!
Buy the pound is her natural habitat.
One grandma keeps so many cats, her living room is a Petrie dish
I think she just wants to be in charge of a small third world countrey.
Granny needs to go rally up the soccer moms at buy the pound.
To lead those cats into a mother thirfting revolution
These woman leave feeling like they saved their family a fortune
Dumpster diving for sport.
Every tossed or trampled stranger
One flip flop closer to
feeding their children
clawing through poverty

When that airhorn sounds again.
They scurry back to their carts.
Tell their children
"Make sure nobody steals this"
as they line back up in haste.
Touch their all white nikes to the caution tape line.
Hold their family close like brass knuckles.
when that airhorn sounds.
It's time to fight.
Lauren Leal Dec 2015
Let's go with nothing planned
Just me and you hand in hand
Let's enjoy the little things now
Just us being the way we know how

Let's go on an adventure
Get lost then, for sure
Let's take over the world one city at a time
Get cheap things for a penny and a dime

Let's not let a moment slip past
No moment can be the last
Let's do what others are scared too
Conquer it all just us two

Let's be that team no one can beat
Because you know, we are pretty neat.
Adventure is life.
Roberta Day Dec 2015
Kitchen-hungry red
Ocean-water teal
Blacks bonded together
Stitched and adhered
  to lay flat
on my kitchen floor
Crimson 50′s clock
quietly going tick-tock
during rests of audio activity
Wrestling with dogs
during the turning of cogs
to unwind pent up energy
The day of rest and solitary conquest
puts me in no hurry to leave this nest
For I appreciate and want to bathe in
everything I have...for now.
Kaley Hudgins Nov 2014
Scribbled into the tag of my sweater
in all capital letters,
So I suppose that makes it a name brand.

I have no doubt that a man named Clyde would balloon into every inch of this cream-colored carcass.
When I slip it over my skin
I can decipher from where the fabric bends
that the night he wore it,
he hoofed his way down a deflated street
where she swore they would meet.
Bags packed.
Ready to run.

Half past three.
& the red wine-stained sleeve
now sings to me the saddest song
that made even the buildings
bow their head
in second hand heartbreak.

So I blame the sweater that's now raisining over me
for this cloud of hand-me-down melencholy
that I just can't quite shake today.
instagram: @kaleyhudgins
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