She was a moving wreckage,
fully down on her luck
and you kicked her debris aside,
unwilling to accept that
she would never be perfect.
Collecting dirt on her dirty ways,
you showed up time and again
horn blowing, nostrils flaring
waving flags and dragging tins
of accusations you’d hurl in her direction.
And she believed you’d change,
believed you were worth the pain
and the smell and the headache
and the dirty water boots, but
you couldn’t collect the little pieces that mattered,
and so you never saw her true beauty.
17/30 “Garbage Collector”
Be Kind and Share…