Pandora Boxed

I put them under lock-and-key:
emotions stockpiled in the attic,
antiques among other relics of the ’70s:
bell-bottoms, peace signs, LPs and bleeding-heart poetry.

I can’t gush like that—oozing care and concern—
drying up, dune by dusk, nothing left
color drained
monotone sunset

Now I ration—first me and mine—
do less, let others take their turn

sneak up to the attic late at night
turn the combination
hope the screams and tears and laughter
don’t wake up the dog