Trash

The world is full of it, spreading through the streets, backing up in our driveways. Flowing through the mainstay of our average little world. We often don't think how bad it is until we open our eyes to it. What am i talking bout it's TRASH. Spilling from our hands and bounding forth to our toes. Sometimes it travels around on the breeze. Jeffrey always wondered why people threw away what they did? The days are over where we generate more than we can handle, but isn't that the best part. We are overrun by an insatiable need to toss out what we don't want.

Traveling to a day where we didn't see any of it would be nice and dandy. Otherwise we would need to be hand-fed this rubbish. Where would that take us? Probably to another dimension if we are lucky. Smearing it all over the place with our side glances. And failing to realize that it is only for us and nobody else. Throwing away our visions of a perfectly clean world.

Jeffrey's sister Sarah always believed that with the right amount of transparency this world be a better place. Cleaning up would have to be advertised first. Letting everyone know that they had to pitch in. The allowance would have to be split both ways. Squirrel !!!!!!!!!!.

It was a long way down the hall to catch what he and she had to find. Both together. The siblings knew that and they followed their instincts. In the manner at hand, the trash trucks were piling up. And finding them took a lot of courage.

Time to take out the trash. Sending it to the multiple entries along the ports. Against the strife. Freeing up the space in the cans and tipping them over. Bandaging the memory of the fallen comrades that did not make their cut over the boxes they left. Had it come to that? Yes it had.

Clouding up the windows of the trash truck, the mist transformed the truck and turned it into a mire of clash. Not to be forgotten with the mound of trash it just dumped. Jagged edges coming over to the bounded forum and combining with its own valueless pile of shoot. The shoot part is the cleaned up version. Not sure if I can curse in this writing or not? I would say probably not.

It was the end of the decision to build a compactor area on the island. It would work well with the other decisions the managers had to make. Working to the bone they would have to. It wasn't easy to make that decision, but it was the one they would make. That's a lot of decision words in one paragraph.

They spread that garbage farther than they should. To a point of mind-boggling faith. The rhythm was trainable, especially when others' could manage it on their own. But it would pile up anyway. And what would be the use of doing that anyways. The beauty of it fled down the shoot. They were in the back room as usual. Spreading their own lies. And complicating the issues to the max. The injection passed towards sundown, what to do with it we will never know.

Sharing the fate of the landfill, to cross over into it. Thirty minutes would do just fine. If that's what they really wanted. They all thought it couldn't be possible, but they were doing just fine. The watermelon smell would always be there it added to the beauty of the drive home. Especially when you had to smell the rubbish.