Territory

He kicked the bag with all his might And cans came flying out. The passersby looked on in fright, The reason not in doubt. It was a turf war, plain as day. This urban enterprise Provides some with their daily pay And rule of thumb applies. Another kick, another bag, With empties raining down, The loser waiting out the jag, Not challenging the crown. The kicker, finished, ambled past, His bags conveyed on wheels, While those of us who watched, aghast, Had no clue how that feels.