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THE DEBT

He entered through the doorway of his debt.

Workmen followed, bringing box after box

until everything he’d gathered in his life

inhabited his debt. He opened the sliding door to the yard—

a breeze blew through the spaces of his debt,

blew the bills from the table onto the floor.

The grove of birches and, farther,

the beach of driftwood and broken shells

were framed by the enormous window—

that lenslike architectural focus of his debt.

He drove into town on the coiled springs

of his debt; when he bought fish at the market

he proffered his MasterCard. The dark woods

stretching inland were pocked by lightfilled cubes

of debt. The very words he used to describe

his surroundings were glittering facets

of debt. Each visit, we smoked on the deck

and, over drinks, he reminded me

with love and genuine pride: one day

all this debt would be mine.