Garage sale Saturday, I need to pay My heart's outstanding bills A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch Some plastic daffodils Cutlery and coffee cups I stole From all-night restaurants A sense of wonder, only slightly used A year or two to haunt you in the dark For a phone call from far away With a "Hi, how are you today?" And a sign recovery comes To the broken ones Wage-slave forty-hour work week weighs A thousand kilograms So bend your knees, comes with a free fake smile For all your dumb demands Cordless razor that my father bought When I turned 17 A puke-green sofa and the outline to A complicated dream of dignity For a laugh, too loud and too long Or a place where awkward belongs And a sign recovery comes To the broken ones To the broken ones To the broken ones For the broken ones