discarding what we never owned

garage sales
have an ethereal feel
to them.
seeing someone else’s house spread over
the designated space of earth and
surveying their memories with a host of other onlookers;
how invasive it would be had they not invited us.
bright neon bold two-thickness type telling the world to come and buy what they are discarding
dust stirring and settling
on the sidewalk and over skin and the items
laid out for the taking and all of us
baking under the sun as we try to barter, the only time
we, the canadians will argue openly, just outside, on
our own lawns.
street lights stand by silent, observing our exchanges as if
those things were never really ours.