Mental Garage Sale

My brain is cluttered.

Stories I’ll never finish.

Full of half formed...

what was I saying?

I am a mental garage sale.

Childhood trauma? 50 cents.

Struggles with sense of self? One dollar.

Worries lined up like old shoes? Take them, they’re yours.

Cue cards

from my brain-to-mouth teleprompter

litter the floor.

They say,

“What?”

“Huh?”

“One more time?”

“I was thinking about something else.”

"Wait I didn't hear you."

"Oh, I get it now"

"Sorry, my head was somewhere else"

Somewhere a broken music box

is playing two lines of a song

over and over.

“Planet Earth is blue

and there’s nothing I can do”