Three pairs of shoes, and a rotating fan
Six dusty photographs, two broken lamps
A leash for a dog
A string for a cat
Three overdue library books
And three more
In three days
Due back
There’s a comb he’s forgotten ’bout–
He’s balding, it’s true
And he wants some more records
Though there’s stacked, sixty-two
There’s a mountain of books
On the shelf above those
And he’s read only some of them
But nobody knows
They think he’s well read
But maybe he’s not
Still, the closet door’s open
It can’t close
It cannot

Yes, his closet is strapped
With laundry stacked high
Too late for the Laundromat
It closes at nine
No wonder his closet
Is needed this list
It’s bulged at the seams
Like a rodeo twist

And outside his closet
Is tethered and crawled
With a bedroom so tiny,
There’s carpeted walls
More books on the windowsill
He’s reading all those
He wants to be tidy
He’s close
He’s almost