Elizabeth Cantwell’s poems defy the poet’s task of producing art. That is not to say the poems do not qualify as art; quite to the contrary. They are filled with subversion and dangerously figurative language. They approach beauty not through its representation but against its representation. “And I Picked It Up and Held It” varies on this theme: the speaker undoes everything introduced. Watching Hoarders becomes not the typical spectacle reality television offers: scores of voyeurs/viewers watching how consumerism and what Marx called “the fetish of the commodity” put people into a symbiotic relationship with needless possessions, disallowing them the impulse to just get rid of junk. Cantwell’s speaker not only understands this fetish, but seeks to bed with it by declaring: “I think there is a betrayal / in abandoning a thing.” Betrayal, of course, is the deepest circle in Hell, but what do we ever make of our own moral barometers when our lives are polluted with the need to consume, to possess, and own useless things that we inevitably “betray” by ridding ourselves of them because of their obsolescence?