thick black ink
soaked into the side of the box
and, let’s face it
you were the master
I was just a tenant
but this snow-dusted morning
has me wondering
if people can truly change
can masters ever be anything kind?
can tenants make their own way?
can the ones we love somehow devour us?
can the things we fear come to inspire us?
as for this box full of misery
we said “goodbye” at the Goodwill
one man’s pain, another man’s pleasure
and I’m off to make my own way