I sat and watched them auction our lives away:
the house, the cars, the dog, the three TVs,
your hidden poems, your clothes, your negligee,
our wedding vows and favorite DVDs.
When they auctioned you, I was totally broke,
but everyone else in the room was bidding like mad,
into the millions, until your father spoke
and bought you back with every cent he had.
When they auctioned me, it was pretty intense;
no one said a word, there wasn’t a sound,
then someone said, “Ninety-seven cents,”
and the gavel came down. I slowly turned around:
he stood behind me, off in the back,
holding a scythe and dressed in black.