Dumpster
Flies punched the air inside a green metal
Machine, sleep until awaken by a tickle
Of two fingers, lifting to empty unwanted
treasures.
Chunks of white, liquid turned solid,
Fuzzy green cheddar and rotten meat,
Swum through my nose, leaving a polluted
Taste.
A Cabbage Patch Kid with red stringy hair,
Cotton falling out the shoulder, and both eyes
Poked out, one lying next to the melted shoe,
Put on fire by a little brother.
Dumped and replaced.
Dress shoes, mouth opened wide,
As if a story is being told.
Torn, misused, and left behind,
Replaced.
Pots and pans bang
together creating music.
Singing The Blues.
Slammed down, scratched, burned,
Replaced.
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