Yard Sale

The temporary Temple of Unwanted Items opened

that Saturday morning at 8 a.m. sharp—

not a minute before.

But dedicated supplicants who’d come to pay homage were waiting—had been waiting—

in parked cars along the curb or on foot at the drive’s edge,

anxious for the moment when the garage door began its clattering ascent.

Barely containing their fanatical fervor,

the throng of ardent devotees rushed heaped shrines of cast-off belongings,

as they searched for sacred—to them—relics.

Visitations came in waves,

lasting from mere minutes for the disaffected

to an hour for those who’d found their Nirvana.

Petitioners haggled for benediction with temple deacons,

offering up alms in exchange

for secondhand amulets.