“Everything all to go there!”
The community gathered this Sabbath
In the middle of the street
of this stark, soggy
North Dakota town.
Everything all to go there.
Men circled the hay racks
looking for tools, more tools.
Women made their rounds,
eyeing the bird statues,
baking pans, fifties furniture.
Everything all to go there.
Children played once again
on ball courts long snow buried,
now merely puddled.
The youngest had forgotten grass.
Everything all to go there.
And the family, I was told,
liked the auction,
Because they could buy
what they would never ask for.
Everything all to go there.
All a dead man’s earthly possessions
and those of his wife gone before
Sold for $1.00, $2.00 on the basket.
We learn of their life
in one final public schooling.
We know them all too well,
Laid out like this
in the center of the town
with no public school.
Everything all to go there.
A Sabbath litany,
Town crier herald,
Prophecy of times to come.
Who is dead in this public place?
Everything, everything all to go now?
All day, a wake,
VFW lunch, $1.50 a basket.
Those who know how to wait
know the big tag items come last.
They all know how to wait.
Irene said she didn’t mind
being cut off by the blizzard,
“Except,” she wondered,
“could an ambulance get through
should we need one?”
A truck did back over her husband.
Everything all to go there.
“We called 911,” she said.
“They did get through,” she said.
Cut off your road to save the farm.
It smells like rain, gentle rain.
Everything all to go there.