A crumpled letter,
Filled with words left unsaid,
An empty hot chocolate packet; in it,
A lonely marshmallow
That never escaped with the others.
The remnants of last night’s dinner;
Wilted lettuce and stale pizza crust
The vacant Oreo package from your sleepover;
A family of grimy tissues from winter sniffles;
The stuffed animal your dog chewed apart;
A dilapidated People magazine;
The headline “Connecticut Shooting: Hero Teacher Died Saving Students;”
And a sliver of Santa Claus wrapping paper.
The unwanted.
The dirty, the old,
The damaged, the useless;
A pile of disheveled leaves.
A prison.
My kitchen trash can.