My Resolution Closet

I have a series of resolutions
tucked into a belt I never wear.
It sits in the corner of my closet
next to my pile of shoe boxes
and a pack of unopened matches.

Like so many keys,
they hang on a ring slung along
the hips of a security guard
who impresses his ring and magnum
upon the fools who open their doors.

It's all very standard,
this business of promises
collecting dust in closet corners,
like a salute to a man
I have never seen
but know by name.

Or perhaps it's nothing
like the guard and his salute,
but rather more like a white dress
on a clean bed,
discarded for the best man
and hung once more
among the boxes and the matches.

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