What the Trash Can Says...

My molecules were chosen for this occupation
I'm not sure why
What kismet steered the cosmos
stars to swirl and converge
on a configuration that would allow
my metal atoms to be forged into
a trash can
rather than a sword, scalpel,
or even scissors.

But I am resigned to this fate
and I allow custodial personnel
to line my innards with plastic
clear or black
scented and sometimes not
thin polymer finer than silk.

Banana peels, crumpled paper, dirt
unrecycled cans, and even vomit
I contain these substances

Prevent mayhem from spiraling
into corners, clotting in crevices,
smearing open spaces
creating unsanitary conditions
and food for rats.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Thank goodness for the plastic.
Even one who willingly sacrifices for the benefit of others needs some relief from the worst of it.