Garbage Day

The blue bins are out on the curb,

their lids yawning open at the sky.

Tuesday is a slow leak in the week,

a pile of junk mail turning to pulp in the rain.

I see a flyer for a cat named Jasper

plastered to the bottom of the plastic,

ink running into the cracks

where the wheels meet the pavement.

It’s not quite the beginning

and it’s nowhere near the end.

Just the sound of a truck grinding gears

two blocks over, taking what’s left

of our small, discarded lives.