Back Alley Heap
by Violet V.
· 27/04/2026
Published 27/04/2026 11:31
The lid half-raised, a metal maw.
Behind the store, against the law
of simple neatness, stacked so high.
A sour breath, beneath the sky.
That ripped black bag, a plastic spew.
Old coffee grounds, a moldy hue.
Bruised fruit and crusts, a sticky stain.
Just piling up, through sun and rain.
The rust-pocked steel, a dented side.
Where all the unwanted things reside.
It holds the rot, the quick decay.
Just sits and waits, day after day.