There’s a milk carton
barreling wildly through the streets,
tumbling on itself,
a drunkard’s feat.
Celebrating its
roll, a clanging bell,
farming the freedom
of a windy day.
There are buttery containers
sliding behind,
taking the wind’s push.
Freed by the absence
of love or legs.
While foam inserts
chafe the earth,
to rest in my yard;
a surfboard for ants
in a sea
of wavy grass.
Cereal boxes
lead the parade.
Flattened squares,
twirling like
high school color guards
with sloppy prep.
While plastic bags
breeze along,
letting the wind make their
brown skin unforgettable;
effortless grace.
Then, metal can:
the main event,
jacketed in silver,
clanging loudly
like a stunt man.
Recycling day,
we pile and pray,
while the wind
carries our bad choices away.
‘There aren’t many transformations bigger than turning a piece of garbage into a piece of art.’ Vik Muniz.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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