Inventory 3

One month after you died, 

I went to your office.

Came in like a bloodhound, sniffing. 

The carpet is long enough to comb.

Oversized yellow writing in the window is yellow.

Everything here is for a low low price. 

The short haired long legged office dog barks,

he too, is built for hunting. 

From your desk;

A stuffed manilla envelope.

A package of BIC pens worth 

 mentioning: all lids are intact. 

I paw everything that very recently, was yours:

stapler,  glossed paper calendar, lamp shade. 

Make a bet with god right then 

dare him to impress me, make you real again.

Empty the wastebasket into my pockets, 

want every ounce of you back with me, fold receipts into paper cranes. Sniff the spot your bald head made an indent, a clue. My tongue traces the back of your chair now, polished.  A victory lap.

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