For the Many

FREE — Please take one

An open door, stairs to guide
into the catacombs of the once loved.

Stored here is a dilettante
and a failed diligence; some samples of
a single life; chased perfection.

Some will pass by with a snigger.
Some will descend and grab armfuls
because of the F word then smash them
on wasteland.

Some will rush to look then rush away
seeking other. Some may linger asking
— what do they do — what are they for?
some will count furiously seeking facts.

There are some that will make a morning
of it, naming it an exhibition. There is one
who will choose the smallest pot, with a lid

for her treasure under the bed
— a shell — a feather and a stone with
a hole in the middle.