Wet Cardboard Ribs

Down the alley, behind the dumpster.

Rain-soaked, flattened by a truck, I guess.

A big cardboard box, its brown skin ruptured.

And there it was, the exposed guts.

The corrugated waves, like tiny, damp ribs.

All that hidden structure, now for everyone.

Weakened, losing its shape.

But still, the pattern, so deliberate.

Folded layers, designed for strength.

Now just pulp, soft and yielding.

Something meant to hold, to protect,

just splayed open to the grey sky.

And the slow, quiet rot.