To Help Her Move
She is told I’m like an elephant
and calls on me to help her move,
to burden her dressers and boxes to the truck
and out of the truck to her new locked door.
She is separating
from the bearded happy farmboy of her wedding.
I look for weight.
I take the box springs
and carry it over my head, my arms extended
as if it had a message for someone to read.
At the truck, I slide it on its side
into the crevice in the furniture
and return upstairs to dismantle more.
Patrick T. Reardon
Originally published in What It Can’t Save (Pudding Magazine), 1986