Recycle Me. A poem.

I, the scrap,
On a detritus field
Of tumbledown moments.
I, the waste,
Along with the stains
And bitter reprieves.
I, the torn,
Of paper cut truths
And angst-worthy solemnity.

I, the scrap
Rusted, bent, broken
And, finally, discarded.

Recycle me,
But without
The endless drama,
Bad decisions
And bitter irony.

So, I may
Be of use

Finally.

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For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print.

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