When we die
what will we leave?
a broken lease,
some unread books and
singed, stained ones too –
no loved ones in the drawing-room,
the annex, the upstairs addition,
no public viewing in the old farmhouse,
deft hands ready to pluck a coffin
light as overripe wheat,
and carry it to rest.

when we die
they will pack our lives in boxes –
and send it all to the landfill.

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