These legs ache
from the act of hauling
the memory

of his voice and brilliant
wisecracks out my door, down
the back stairs, to the alley

dumpster. Done. I lean
these old wooden idols against the iron
base on wheels. I believe

in the potential to recycle
everything—the divers will come
out tonight. I wear this stiffness

as a badge of endurance. You
threw out mine almost as soon

as you heard it
in an age before reuse.