Eventually he came to the conclusion
that he had too many books.
He put some on the wall outside.
The next day they were gone.
It felt good – he liked the thought
that he had passed something on.
He went through his shelves for more books,
putting them outside and grinning
as the stack on the wall began to go down.
By the end of the week it had disappered.
He had given his books away, and it felt good.
He ransacked his wardrobe,
gathering all the clothes he reckoned
he could do without. He put them outside
and the next day they too had been removed.
Even the pants with holes in.
What need have I for clothes? he declared
as, naked, he placed the last of his garments
outside. He felt good in his nakedness,
and he basked in the thought
that others now wore what once was his.
Next came the plates, knives, forks –
all the kitchen utensils, out on the street.
Neighbours trickled by to come
and get them. He hauled the pictures
off the walls, the covers off the bed.
He plucked out his teeth and shaved his head
until finally he stood screaming gummily
outside his newly relinquished home:
Nothing must remain!
And they came to take him away.
And it felt good. It felt good.
