Your Life Is Scattered on the Lawn

You carry a well-packed U-Haul box to the car,

 trip over the hose, fall flat, arms out,

 as if desperate to thrust a  gift

on someone passing by.

The street is empty.

No one walks a dog,

rides past on a bike.

No one stoops to help.

And there’s your life, scattered on the lawn.

You look at the contents spilled from the box

important only an hour ago

and you cry for your life and your stuff.