The lonely trashcan


Left carelessly just beyond its basket –
foam, paper, plastic,
cups, straws, napkins – whole and in pieces,
just out of reach.

The can wants to help,
offering condolence to objects not yet buried in the depths
of its plastic lining.
The can wants to help,
offering shelter with those waiting to join the plethora of successful bits
baking in the southern sun,
waiting to be moved by strong faded orange caterpillar arms.

About justbrinkley

poetry, flash fiction, prompts from a southern granny who should have been a writer.
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