On Saturday, I loaded up a van
With furniture collected from my home
And drove the twisted route out to the dump
Where near the back they have a huge machine,
Steel rolling teeth relentless in their grind.
I tossed inside my faded paisley couch;
Where once sat friends, where lovers found their rest
Poured out the other end reduced to shreds.
I watched and for one golden minute, smiled.

Returning to my house, I loaded more
Into the van, as much as I could fit:
A Turkish rug, a banker’s lamp, four chairs,
My crumpled suit and every tie I own,
Bone china with outmoded etiquette,
My king-sized bed, the artwork from the walls,
And shelves on shelves of books I’ve never read.
Then, with a final frenzy I removed
The floorboards with their red oak lacquered grain.

Back at the dump I backed up to the maw
To feel again that sweet triumphant rush
Of watching expectation turn to dust.
When all was done, the last chaise lounge destroyed,
Just scraps of fabric flapping on the ground,
That piquant high of shredding faded fast.
I then returned to empty, echoing rooms
And looked to rest but had no place to sit,
Nowhere to lie, no ground on which to stand.