I kicked Coke can, it began to speak –
“why do you hurt me, down the street?”
In soberness, I did not reply,
for such a thing, can’t bleed and cry,
I struck once more, it spoke again –
“what have I done, to deserve this pain?”
My worry sparked, at tinny words,
as such conversation’s; quite absurd,
but with third boot, my fear came back,
“perhaps, I do, warrant a smack!”
Coke can yelled, with dark sweet ooze,
with empty wrappers, giving “boos!”
I then bent down, to pick it up,
not to scare, and not to sup,
just to pause, to be still life,
to stare at logo, manmade strife,
for it was empty, I was not,
lo’ recycled thus, as my future, rots,
so, I went to bin, to say goodbye,
then packets said, “hello, nice guy!”
A nearby bench, became my crutch,
inner thought sobbed – “this is too much!”
My damp tissue, carried a hope,
the memory, that made life’s soap!