Excessive December poetry – 2

Garbage Collection – Part 2

Are you okay, ma’am?

At last, one of my many itches
Has been scratched just the right way.
Forget filling the holes you never had –
Instead go straight for the blank spaces
In your air-bagged bucket list.

That one day,
The day cleared his stale throat and
Delivered his gentle reminder
That I, too, am made of junk. A chunk of meat
Cushioned by brittle plastic that shattered
On impact. Discard if the seal is broken –

Unfair as that statement might seem,
It does caution well against bruised, rotting,
Disintegrating flesh. Damaged goods.

Are you okay, ma’am? was
Politely asked over and over
As I was trying to
Assess if I was damaged goods,
Which I mostly wasn’t,
And I sure am lucky,
But I could have done well
Without the precious chance
To recall that my body
Will one day be thrown
Right into the ditch
With or without dignity,
Doesn’t matter which one,
Because to be honest,
Why would I give a fuck
At that point anyway?

That one day,
Later in the afternoon, as I was
Passing by the scene of the crash again,
I noted that the debris has been cleared away.
Licked clean like nothing’d happened.

Give us all your junk!

Just like that. You don’t always get to
Join the winning side but it sure feels
Grand to brush by the greatness.


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