trash day
I’m always a little saddened on trash day—
the accumulations of a lifetime
tossed on the tree lawn naked and broken
for your neighbors’ viewing enjoyment
and passers-by
the grocery store clerk, the mayor
the man going for gas
butchers, factory workers, donut makers
the sisters attending morning mass
they all know you better than you know you
from the outdated carpet
archaic faux-wooden dressers
a dilapidated box of precious moments
I was never much on owning          stuff
it seemed so permanent
and when you move around
the idea of permanence
doesn’t rent space in your head for very long
but we do it, anyway, collect things over time
for happiness
and enjoyment’s sake
and how quickly they are forgotten
so we collect more things and more things
over the course of our miserable lives
until we have too many things
displaying them on mantels
coffee tables and bookshelves and
windowsills until
a loved one tells us we must get rid of our things
there are too many things
too much clutter
pointless, dust covered things
so we toss them on the tree lawn
naked and broken
and those things that once made us happy
make us only long for death
and I’m a little saddened on trash day
for those things I never owned

Image Credit:blowup

Ken Tomaro is a writer living in Cleveland Ohio whose work reflects everyday life with depression. His poetry has appeared in several online and print journals and explores the common themes we all experience in life. Sometimes blunt, often dark but always grounded in reality.

He has 4 full-length collections of poetry: Home Is Where the Headstones Are, An Angry Year, Paralysis & Potholes and Perogies (through Alien Buddha Press) available on Amazon.