Useless

The house is full of stuff
that sort of hangs around
expectantly:
those eager books he kept
for reference,
those ties he’ll never wear
(except the black),
picture frames, long empty,
that will never see the light.
From time to time,
a feeling in the gut
will raise a tsunami
to rearrange the debris,
sort those memories
he tries to keep in place,
until it’s time for them
to go.