PenWomanShip

This poem is addressed
to all the jerks driving by,
throwing trash out their windows,
leaving it to lie.

I’m tired of your green condoms,
your bottles and your cans;
I’m tired of your cassette tapes,
pills, books and rubber bands.

I’m tired of your dead game cocks,
rotting in paper bags;
I’m tired of picking up
broken toys and oily rags.

I’m tired of your bags and boxes,
from the colonel’s and Mickey D.’s;
I’m tired of your giant drink cups
and napkins from Applebee’s.

I’m tried of your pornography,
half-eaten burgers and hot dogs;
I’m tired of your newspapers,
junk mail and catalogues.

If I had the power,
I’d fill up your bed,
with every piece of refuse
you so carelessly shed.