A Brown Paper Bag
It looks almost full or half empty.
A pregnant bulge
something firmer than a sandwich
less firm than a brick.
A dirty diaper?
Something worse?
Once I found a dead parakeet
wrapped in a discarded paper bag,
when I dropped it in disgust
its head lolled out,
one dull eye fixed upon
the space I had just left.
The paper is mottled by damp winds,
stained as if hands had clutched it
too long.
Here it is, a sore thumb
in an deserted parking lot.
Poked the bag with a nudging toe,
unsure, circle it apprehensively.
Decide at last
when something's too big
to be left behind - yet is left behind,
then best to leave it
bloody-well alone.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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