Some are hitched to a plow,
Some a cultivator,
I'm pulling two garbage cans behind me.
They rumble and stink to high heaven.
And when they are full, they are worthless,
And when they are empty they're unfulfilled.
They crow like a mouth with a bottomless belly for more.
And there is much more for them,
If only I could let go of it all.

But what should I spend my life's energy on,
Trashing the world as I go?
Or should I find seeds to plant
And bloom out of all this compost?

-jenn