A HOARDER
Back when circuses were still fun,
the big ones always had a clown car
which stopped in the center ring
illuminated by a single spotlight.
Clowns kept jumping out;
even the littlest kids understood
it was a trick, but we all still laughed.
For months, my neighbor has dragged out
moldy wood, disassociated junk,
and broken appliances for
trash pickups at the curb. He’s selling
his house and moving south.
In the past, hoarders died in their digs
leaving the mess for their kids.
Now if you move
you have to start over.
You are forced to toss your trophies.
Twice a week, he builds
his piles touching them one last time
before helping the workers
load his lives into their truck.