With a bee buzzing brain
Floating on the listless kisses of last night,
I stumbled up an empty 46th street,
Melting footprints into the snow soft pavement
Warm with content and all the hidden affection
In shampooed hair.
I almost tripped on a discarded waste bin and noticed the sidewalk chaos of rolling plastic barrels.
I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was a careless collection route
Or the mindless push of nature,
And how we all might be trash men and irritated residents,
Pointing fingers at each other across a windy street
On a 50 degree mid-November day.