Jacob Bacharach

We have unlimited amounts of older stuff.
It’s piled high as stacks of magazines
in grandpa’s house; through it wind byzantine
paths and walkways; the wheezing cats huff
and cough; the adult children cry enough’s
enough; the TV’s gone five years unseen;
the home health aid has said she will not clean
this utter dump—Lord, it is rough
to get old. The grandkids rarely come around.
The neighbors and the m