Debris

Pain in the knee robbed me of
a leg to stand on.
Inside, it felt like
pieces of a jigsaw puzzle
pushing against each other
inside a Zip-Lock bag,
trying to get into a groove that was
missing in action somewhere
on my children’s floor,
scooped up with
the rest of the refuse
after we waved the white flag
of surrender
and deposited into a Hefty bag
—with dolls’ legs
and Easter eggs—
the debris of a privilege
my grandparents bought on clearance,
on layaway
at a K-Mart a long time ago
in a suburb that’s never far enough away.