Driving past the dump

Driving past the dump
one sometimes sees
a fridge or range 
painted fantastical colors
this human drive to create
touches and alarms
but the crude art
ennobles the dump

Yes, your refrigerator was not like others’
on your sideboard is a paper appliqué
on your wall hangs an unknown artist’s painting
he died at fourteen
during masturbation
you’re like the springs escaping from the couch
a real original!
with your fridge painted weird colors
I remember it, driving past the dump
and wish it were empty, with no glimmer of hope
but sheds and fences drag out on the landscape
and you keep putting your soul into things
things that themselves do not have souls