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Small Talk

"Don't talk to me
about cardboard boxes, Sarah,

I've had one partially blocking 
my front door for six weeks.

I think I told you
how I'd spotted it at work,

empty and spent,
ready to be broken down
and discarded,

how it looked sturdy enough
for it's size
and how I'd decided
it was coming home with me.

I had a thousand things
that needed 
to be tossed
or sorted 
or stored more properly
and I had intentions. 

And I have intentions- 

fuck,
I have intentions

but every garbage day 
it stares at me. Gaping. Flaps open.
Challenging me.

I will not be challenged
by a cardboard box, Sarah,
I won't.

I"ll slit its tape
and slip it between pizza boxes
next Thursday.

Don't ask me about it again."
Banker's box, no doubt. Bring in a flat four-pack for (example) used books to sell, and in three days they've taken over the living room.

(And by then, the number of lids and boxes doesn't match - and never will again.)