Joan Margarit

The damp and narrow street is almost blocked
by heaped belongings: rusting refrigerator,
two mattresses propped up against the wall,
a sofa and a standard-lamp, both broken.
All that is left, now, from an eviction.

They’re debris from the future.
They’re things you often find in streets like these,
but now he’s thinking they might be his own
remains, the things he’s seen.
He turns: a cat creeps underneath the sofa
and stares at him with green eyes just like hers.