i look forward to every Sunday
when i gather trash and decide
which spent containers deserve
recycling, washing them or
tearing them into pieces and
which things will instead be
buried as if they never existed

i pull the carts one by one
down the long dirt driveways
lined with daisies and tall grass
as if i were a mule pulling a cart
my arms long behind me gripping
the thick plastic handles
vibrating pleasantly into my shoulders
from hard wheels on rocks, trudging
to the road where cars go by more
frequently and the garbage men
pull over to lift our waste
carrying it even further away

i often imagine what might be
learned by the small samples
of other lives held in containers
neatly in rows on the street
standing beside my own

all the stories from a wrapper
or a thing in a box that meant
something in some small way
in other life i'll never see

and there's just a feeling
about it as i walk back home
with my little samples out
there too for anyone curious
enough to smile and wonder too