Sea Urchin’s Abode
Chaz removes the dishes and objet d’art wrapped in old newsprint
tosses the boxes aside like spent tubes of toothpaste
forming a pyramid in the middle of his living room.
Later he stacks them neatly
untenanted teenagers smoking joints in an alleyway.
They rest where he discarded them,
in a niche, on the sidewalk, beside the worn steps of his Brownstone
soldiers waiting to be deployed, disposed or recycled.
Neatly stacked bundles wrapped in white string
abandoned monument of those who reside between solid walls,
those who live warmly above,
in their orderly rooms among their cherished objects.
And he shuffles by, down below,
sea urchin pushing his shopping cart
laden with crammed plastic bags, his city catchalls.
He searches the sidewalks and alleyways—
droll, malodorous man–
sees in it a city
in the cardboard, an ephemeral home
for his hodge-podge of collectibles.