We watch the
old black-and-white reruns
from the
backs of couches.

Lock this boy up,
he crashes his cars together-
trying to untape desks
Cut off the goalposts
And eat them tonight
Mom-in-the-kitchen stuff
Landing on her chin.

Wet shoes on the rubber mat-
Trying to read street signs
For what the earrings had cost
and for other articles
on subjects
on the milk-spilled floor.

A (partial) Found Poem, from Caroline B. Cooney’s “The Face on The Milk Carton”