Splintered Leg

Behind the building,

a mountain of someone else's ending.

A mattress, yellowed, stained.

Books, pages fanned like wings

that couldn't fly anymore.

And that chair.

One leg snapped clean off,

a splintered bone jutting out.

Particleboard guts

spilling out onto the pavement.

Too heavy to lift alone,

too broken to keep.

Just tossed.

Like the rest of it.

Waiting for the crusher to come.