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.