Trash

Flyers strewn across the street

A night's ideas dispersed 

The morning breeze

The winter's freeze

The trashman coughs and croaks

A scattershot of paper waste

Nothing of value here

Stabbing trash to turn to ash

Just waiting to reappear

Collecting thoughts 

The trashman laughs 

Oh what wisdom to be found

While behind his back 

He senses that

A presence lurks on the ground

But when he braced to face a foe

A flyer was staring from below

The trashman, through broken teeth

showed relief and a bitter smile

Then deigned to kneel and tell the soul

Rest there a little while

Yet flyers are a fickle bunch

and this one more than most

Without the wind to lift the page 

The flyer broke from the gravel host

Whipping and weaving 

Cutting, deceiving

The flyer flew with force and grace

Frozen in time, this trashman of mine, 

felt the flyer cover his face

He gripped and ripped with all his might 

but the flyer clung to his nose

Losing his breath, seeing the light

His eyes began to close

The fight is at an end my friend 

This thought won't die alone

You gave life to me, your fecundity

Now both will turn into stone