Trash Can

I am a trash can.

People’s problems, their questions, are the garbage,

Like the trash continually being dumped into me.

I just sit there – quiet, watchful, isolated, alone.

The outside is gray and gloomy,

A rain cloud just before the rain comes, sprinkling, falling, tumbling to the ground.

Like plastic,

You can’t see through me but I’m not indestructible

Like a trash can that’s thrown and forgotten in the corner.

It can’t stand up for itself;

Not a brave, roaring, invincible giant.

Keep to myself – alone, watchful, waiting

Waiting for what?

For people to throw their trash – their problems – into me like I’m an insignificant object.

They don’t care if I overflow, my trash spilling out onto the floor in chaos.

My problems, my thoughts, consuming me

The bag inside me is tied up and hauled away, my problems gone,

But I’m not left with the feeling of freedom, lightness, joy, laughter,

Because the person whose problems I was holding inside has also left,

Like you would leave a bag of trash outside in the rain.

October 2, 2006