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 perspective
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
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 DID YOU TAKE A NERF DART?! WE TALKED ABOUT THIS JO-ANN THOSE WERE FOR JOHNNY. 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.
Kitchen-hungry red Ocean-water teal Blacks bonded together Stitched and adhered contemporarily Symmetrically stacked 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.
Scribbled into the tag of my sweater in all capital letters, "CLYDE" 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.