change of address.

if only the ppa could sync
their records to agree
that a '99 pontiac firebird
was already condemned
to an eager auction lot,
their myriad of urgent white envelopes
wouldn't litter my stairwell.

if only the hours spent
during emergency room visits
for an aching back summer
were enough penance
to save reams of crisp watermarked sheets (i'll never read),
for the wasted thousands (they'll never
see it) and the burdening of
liquid filled lungs no one rushed
to aid
because i look penniless
and am, assumably,
stashing multiple instruments of vice.