OK, let’s see…
You’ve got a rhinestone shoebox
where you keep your pocket fluff,
a steamer trunk that’s full of
Micronesian powder puffs.
Your wardrobe’s shoulder deep in
iridescent jumping crabs,
while both the walk-in closets
are completely stuffed with rags.

The spare room’s got its own spare room
with little room to spare—
I don’t think Galileo could find anything in there.
Your summer house looks very much
like Selfridges blew up,
and I don’t know why your art museum
needs a monster truck.
Your oil tanker’s oil tank
is not quite big enough—

So yes, I think,
I’m pretty sure that
you’ve got too much stuff.