Trash poem

| 09 Mar 2012 | 10:42

    I seek you through poison ivy on the shoulders of roads.

    Reaching through brambles my fingers stretch out

    to capture you. You have lain here

    through sunshine and rain, in ditches, in thorns,

    in water and crushed by the mower.

    Who was the last person who held you?

    Were you thrown to your repose by a teen eating candy?

    Or tossed from the cab of a truck

    by a man after work? They let you become litter,

    flaunting some misguided freedom

    to toss things out of the car, talking and laughing

    and looking away. All you I have gathered –

    water bottles still full, Styrofoam cups for coff ee and

    cream, bags for Doritos and cans for soda and Bud –

    I haul to my driveway. Whoever threw you away on the

    road should know that I throw you

    out, too, as they could have done,

    into the garbage, the recycle bin;

    because I want order, consideration

    for mother earth and a view that is pleasant in this little

    village where we all live. - Anne Hanson, Florida