hours sorting thru boxes in a cramped storage unit,
reacquainting the position of tools, clothes, precious items.
the lights click off after every 60 minutes
spin the dial like a washer/dryer and tumble my eyes clean.
off to the bar at 2pm, free coffee that she pours
half full of half and half, needs no sugar, and like i said
free, a hard cider and then back to storage
for a backpack with tent, coat, blanket
and a pop up canopy which sets up with a few snafus and duct tape.
over to the store midnight run
there by the sidewalk is a free pile of things i need:
a camp stool, a small cooler for food, two big iron crowbars,
and a tire-changing kit that doubles excellently for
tent-spikes to anchor the canopy. i look in a bag
for my glass pipe, it is broken
but usable so i fragrance my mood
and drive the crowbars deep into the soil
as i recently referenced John Henry the iron driving man
and with two clangs atop the beaked heads
the rain commences, and all that was dust is settled
for a little while
9-22-20
se Portland
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