Litter by Thomas Michael McDade

As if it strikes them
as too good to be
ever true
goldfinches darting in
and out of tall brush
ignore a mound
of fresh bird seed
in the corner abutting
the self storage sheds.
A weedy splendor
of chicory blooms
as blue as eyes
and negligees
illuminates even
the slimmest of asphalt
crannies and the poorest
of surrounding soil
in this parking lot
I walk mornings,
fitness less a goal
than wool gathering.
One large discount
store survives,
the other, once a tad
classier languishes as does
Praise The Lord Gifts
and a Hallmark Store.
A condom,
its tenure as wallet
fixture long
ago done browns
on a truck starved stretch
leading to a loading dock,
a latex lesson
in litter longevity
but hardly as effective
as a rubber
in memory –one girlfriend
playfully Trojan
rolling down
and jokingly
tying off
and tossing
the bag
of seed after.

 


Thomas Michael McDade is a former computer programmer living in
Fredericksburg, VA with his wife, no kids, no pets. He served two tours of
duty in the U.S. Navy and graduated from Fairfield University.