On Monday there was a wicker chair,
its threads woven into the frame in a lacklustre taupe
next to a rusted lamp stand.
The shade askew
and its plastic backing peeling.
On the Wednesday it rained
and the soaked carpets spored black.
The vans stooped and floated
past the busted plastic chairs
towards the power drill
with its cut cord.
Friday the men in trucks came
loading great armfuls of wet curtains,
carpets, a wedding gown and lovers’ beds
into the crusher
angrily staring at the vans who raced ahead
to get the last peeling wooden drawers.