tonight could be it, with snow outside, remembering
Januaries more than other months, Januaries and Julys,
The J's, old computer, what a word for a poem, obscene
U, lists of people in pictures, thinking of a computer like
a perishable basket, a non-living thing in my house that will
die in addition to the five living things in my house that will
die, and the television and all the appliances and the deck
and the roof, if a basket dies who feels that most deeply, who
has ever "felt" the "death" of a "basket," me if that basket, holding
things that have no where else to be held, is a computer, waiting
for the wave of care that's yet to begin, with snow outside, in January
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