I’m waiting in a Goodwill line to dump a load of clothes,
lighten up the cupboards of redundant stuff I’ll never use
when I begin to watch the U-Haul truck up front.
Two men are lugging furniture, dragging it across the drive.
A middle-aged woman points to which item to unload next,
no doubt hoping they'll bring new memories and meanings.
A spigot inside my head breaks open and now water is
running down my cheeks. I take off my glasses to dry them
which messes up my vision and all is blurred.
Instead of strangers panting, walking back and forth,
I see my sons heaving with exertion as they dispose
of the last bits of family furniture when I am gone.
Goodbye, little wicker-seat rocker, once
just right when age-six-someone had a mommy,
now too low for same-someone now a grandma.
Farewell, handsome console table my mother set
the candelabra on and lit them all for festive meals,
now displaying artifacts I'd otherwise lock away.
So long, Governor Winthrop desk dear Grandfather
brought so he could work at home sometimes,
now storing my scattered treasures, paperwork and dust.
They’ll all be in a massive Goodwill place
awaiting for the “o-o-o-h, look at this,” and
taken away to fill an empty space or need
to bring new memories and meanings.
For minutes I am in another place,
looking down from another life
seeing the final march toward nothingness.
As I took my morning walk, I was intrigued with pigeon cookie-sharing protocol. These are just two of the six photos I snapped while I stood watching, surprised at how willingly they were taking turns pecking away at a cookie that someone had dropped on the sidewalk. I'm always taken aback by how close a pigeon allows a human to approach before it flies away. I was, at most, just two-feet away from this scene. Very few birds tolerate humans being closer than ten feet, and many, such as robins, detect danger when we get as close as forty feet from their ground feeding. That said, part of me believes I could easily capture a pigeon with a net . . . but I don't plan to test my hunch. Maybe we aren't a threat because they like our discarded food so much, not to mention the items intentionally supplied by some people. Unlike other cultures, currently, anyway, we're not serving roast pigeon for dinner.It was an entertaining several minutes spent watching. I applaud how each bird had a chance to nibble and none seemed to need to become Alpha pigeon to chase away the others. Of course, it could have been a lousy tasting cookie . . . 
