The Weight of Refuse

At the diner’s end, hands slick with grime,

a paper bag crumples, a life out of time.

A grease stain blooms, dark as regret,

traces of meals, memories we forget.

Dropped to the floor, like a silent plea,

a bruise of existence, begging to be free.

Leftover remnants of laughter and fries,

tangled in shadows, where care often lies.

The corner table, a graveyard of bits,

what’s discarded feels heavy, our humor, it splits.

I watch the bag sink, half-submerged in a puddle,

a weight we carry, through life’s steady muddle.