U-SAVE SELF STORAGE

This poem is based on a sign I saw while driving yesterday in front of one of those places where you rent a small garage to put all stuff you don't want to throw out but can't find room for where you live.

                                             U-SAVE SELF STORAGE


                               One step short of the dumpster or the yard sale,
                               these climate-controlled mini-garages
                               are where we park our former selves and passing
                               dreams, the things we can’t quite abandon
                               but don’t want around us every day:
                               the decoupage boxes and macramé
                               plant holders from our artsy-craftsy days,
                               the guitars we always meant to learn to play,
                               father’s favorite books we never read,
                               the fondue pots we used to gather round
                               with the Johnsons, who are now long divorced
                               all of us living in our separate states –
                               all those things we promise ourselves to trash
                               or give to Good Will the next time we move
                               but then say we might embrace again
                               once we can afford to lead a larger life.

Note: I didn't want to burden you with two other versions of this poem, but I did try writing it once with "you" and once with "I" instead of "we."  I'm still contemplating the gains and losses of each version.  If you can imagine which one works best for you (if any work at all), let me know.