the thing and the natural world

by jdavidcharles

“there is a difference in operation
and thus somehow a difference in value” you think
as you pass by the stripped leather office seats
alongside a mismatched dining table;
the owner Buddha-like eyes beyond the
polka-dotted beach umbrella and lunchboxes and boxes
of old cassettes as if to say, “come, look,
these are the extensions of my body, turned inside out for you,
do try the a.m. transistor radio or this
slightly worn through papier-mâché mobile
made and worn for you, or this, a hanging
crucifix here is time used up for you,
these records replayed to the vinyl bone
and split like memory are spread out just for you,
here how they crackle when played,
and this buddy holly bobble head doll
is language, my prayers and swearing taken up
and felt and smelt and put down and taken up
and put down again somewhere behind the silverware
and stained linen tablecloths which were my mother’s,
just for you” and your eyes seem to say right back to hers
“no thanks, I have plenty of stuff in my garage, I even
rented storage space down the street so I really doubt
I could use possibly anything more, but then again,” you falter,
“I wouldn’t mind thumbing through that box over
there, after all, I have an insatiable love for buddy holly.”