Cleaning Out My Office After Four Decades

1.

My wife retired last September,
three months emptying her
office that held twenty-five years.
So I multiplied 3 months X

1.6 yielding “get your ass
in gear.” Now seven months before
departure, I’m in inventory
mode to disperse my academic

detritus, scientific journals,
paper reprints, even binder clips.
My faux oak desk chocked full
of professorial ephemera,

only to find that nobody wants
my shit. Science — relocated
to the metaverse, ones and zeros
the new alphabet, displacing

words on sleek, high-clay paper.
Reprints? What are those? Tears roll
as each glossy article flutters into
the grey recycling bin, and

these leaves from my colleagues’
hearts and minds crumple together.
Many are inscribed “To Gary with
best wishes,” and I reflux

a teaspoon of regret while asking
Darwin for absolution. Our kind
custodian has moved the bin
into my office. A green walled,