At The Goodwill
This is how I remember it
Or this is how the poem demands the retelling.
You can break a word apart
Not unlike diagramming sentences.
(I loved that part of English class.
Chalk board, chalk, eraser, eraser dust, teacher
Back facing class, front facing board
All the tools for dissecting a sentence,
Splayed out on the operating table
They dosed off, classmates to my left and to my right
Unwilling participants, missing the point of the drill.)
The word is a brand, is an adjective, is a noun
Is too often lost on me.
Before I made it through the swinging doors
She snuck up on me in the parking lot
It was never about the bargain, the search, the thrill of the hunt
It was never even about the monetary charitable contribution
(Who are we kidding?)
This is not the first time I have been tripped up
Just the first time
At the Goodwill
Blessed are the lonely
For they will go to the Goodwill in search of conversation
I give myself a C-