Boxes and bags line the drive
stuffed with old technology,
cords that no longer fit, entangled
memories of childhood, of motherhood,
of Mother. There’s an elephant rocker
with a broken back, a typewriter
no one has used in 18 years—
ink dried, keys forever stalled.
The wind makes music whipping the bags.
The air swirls with promise
of a fresh start. Autumn is around
the corner. My mind turns to mulch.
Betsy Mars is a prize-winning poet, a photographer, and publishes an occasional anthology through Kingly Street Press. She is an assistant editor at Gyroscope Review. Poetry publications include Rise Up Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, New Verse News, Sky Island, and Minyan. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee. Betsy’s photos have been featured in RATTLE’s Ekphrastic Challenge, Spank the Carp, Praxis, and Redheaded Stepchild. She is the author of Alinea and co-author of In the Muddle of the Night with Alan Walowitz.
2 thoughts on “Waste Management by Betsy Mars”
Love this one, Betsy!
Thank you so much for your comment and for taking the time to read my poem.