but here
comes the trash truck,
with its flock of flies,
that behemoth
vehicle hauling way
our garbage.
but where to?
the men
in orange jump suits
are quick about
their business.
Olympian athletes hanging
on to the sides,
non-judgmental,
as they leap
into action,
swiftly tossing bags
and boxes, armfuls
of rotted food
and broken toys
into the angry open mouth
of the idled truck.
everything is swallowed
whole, before
the jaws close
with a bang.
then away it rolls to
some hole in the ground,
or to
some far off
unknown place, where
a mountain of what
we toss aside rises each new day.
how is it possible?
then it's gone,
making room
for other things to think about.
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