The American soul has been stored under the stairs
In a box with the mittens and scarves
For the longest time. We couldn’t think where we had put it.
We looked in the attic and cellar, and in the garage,
And then found it at last, as I say, under the stairs.
Why would anyone store a poor spiritual soul there,
We wondered.
It was ever so slightly creased and decreased bit it was
Perfectly safe, we were sure.
We put it back in the box there.
I have been checking it Fridays, just to make sure
It isn’t departing,
And see no change in it at all, except in its color,
Which is less.
Of its continuing immortality I have made sure
By adding more mothballs.
But do you think that there is a chance that we will have need of it?
I ask because if we will I think I should air it.
A soul is not at its best when it is
Heavy with mothballs.