Packed

you were the first one i outlasted, at last
11 months, on the less fleeting side.
and you hid such disparate objects

only a roll-up window and
a 3-second peek 3 times a
week if i’m lucky and you’re cookin

on thursday it’s just the menu, then friday the
letters then monday
your guts, your cinderblocks & bags
what you got in there

i remember september and the summer
and my first one, years back,
well now where’ll we buy groceries?
they’re just moving, moving on.
later a book shop, from letters to
lampshades and empty chiquita banana boxes. and
in pittsburgh, the video store,
which became a flower shop,
which became nothing
in only the time between crawler and toddler and

african food, from first taste to
last rights. i only knew you for
three weeks, with peanut butter sauce

i can’t rip you open like cadavers they
unpack you neat
drug apart in pieces, my campsite honey
and i can’t help but wonder what went
wrong in there or right

well now where’ll i buy custard-filled fish-shaped pancakes?
you and i, we’re just moving, moving on.