The plastic bag failed at the worst possible time

The plastic bag failed at the worst possible time,

spilling the coffee grounds across my shoes.

I had to stand there, leaning my shoulder

against the rusted lid of the communal bin.

It smells of sour milk and the heat of the sun

cooking everything we decided we didn't want.

Right on top of a heap of wet cardboard

sat a birthday cake, face-down and ruined.

The blue frosting was smeared against a pizza box,

a celebration that somebody just gave up on.

I stared at the sprinkles for a long minute,

wondering what kind of fight leads to throwing

the whole damn party in the trash.