There is a skeleton in the closet. It came with the house. I don’t think we paid extra for it.
We have the skeleton arranged so what space he takes up is equally spread against floor shoe space and hanger space.
The good thing is that it forces us to consider whether some shoes, sweaters, and shirts are beyond their service lives. When we toss out the suspect clothes, the closet skeleton leaves us with neither space gain nor loss, but less useless clothing to care for.
Did the former residents apply this wonderful skeleton as skillfully as we do?
Ken Poyner
Ken’s nine collections of brief fiction and poetry can be found at most online booksellers. He spent thirty-three years in information system management, is married to a world-record-holding female powerlifter, and has a family that includes several rescue cats and betta fish. Individual works have appeared in Café Irreal, Analog, Danse Macabre, The Cincinnati Review, and several hundred other places.