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Goodwill
Here’s the thing now baby,
we all go a little crazy.
You’re a little older
and I was born that way.
Everything gets a little smaller,
the words more cautious
in our mouths.
The shirts full of pockets
and lint and half-eaten
pencils,
hung up over shoes
filled with dirt.
The pants pulled up
much higher than our waists.
Nothing’s easy
anymore,
but you still want it that way.
We’ll take everything
we don’t want,
put it in a box
with the shoes,
the shirts,
the cassette tapes,
the five belts
that don’t fit,
and the way I said
I’d never love you.
We’ll take it all over
to the Goodwill
where they know what to do
with old, useless shit
like heartache.
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