Dustbin Bag
A man cracks her up
they hold hands for
the first time
She tells me about
the mountain grass
beneath their feet
Sometimes we sing
in the car before
bitter silence hits
A fruitful space
gone fickle from the
words I didn't speak
I, a rag old and used
to cleaning up her
mess I stress her
Become ancient now
waiting in a dustbin bag
to be taken out.
A. Evensen