Landfill

Sky above the landfill is full with cries
As if the seagulls voice out the fleeting memories
Narratives of the substance slowly decay
And oblivion sweeps over the mounds

High up on a pile, lays a single photo album
Pages filled with pictures black and white
A whole life, it seems, laid down between the covers
Abandoned and forgotten, fallen from history

At the landfill

What kind of life have these broken chairs seen?
Joy and grief, pride and envy?

An orange cardigan now warms a broken plastic bottle
A bent parasol shades a pile of damaged shoes
Cracked roof tiles now lay on cinder blocks
The hands are still on a shattered wooden clock

At the landfill

Did that moldy life vest really save anyone?
Or did it slip out of reach to be washed on the shore?
Did the sleeper in the worn crib grow out to be an adult?
The mobile has become immobile, its days of attracting attention are gone

Now it’s just waste

JR