the Saturday of Joe’s sale they come and go in a constant stream a few circle a while before they light perhaps waiting for a better landing spot some leave - taking their pickings with them more leave - taking nothing at all those that leave with something of his can’t know what it meant to him I watch Joe’s wife stand watching at the door, - she almost waves goodbye - as an old man carries a mirror away carefully placing it in the back seat of his car and I wonder - when might I be able to shop for it at his estate sale and get Joe’s reflection back?
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