The lonely legions of wannabe lovers
Throw themselves at you like empties
At a music festival, littering the dirt
Between performances, piled by the stage.
The horde waits for the next act,
Bodies pressed against the railings,
While I shake my green bag:
"Cans here! Bottles here!" I sing,
A beacon for trash disposal. And soon
My bag is full, two-thirds my height.
The smells of beer, sweat, and piss bite
Into the furthest reaches of my nostrils.
I want to be back home under the covers,
But the music is starting up above the trees.
I yield my collection for a free T-shirt.
This is truly a disposable age,
And the line of time finally bent back
Into a circle, endlessly spiraling.
After many trips, my shoulders sag.
"Bottles here! Cans here!" I sing.
The air is sweeter and I spot the moon.
Who hurts you and who brings delight?
Experience is master. Just keep swiping right.
My free Tee is for you, waiting atop the landfills.