Poetry + Life

Not Just an Empty Bottle

More in the mundane

Photo from taken by the Author

that was not just an empty bottle
crushed under foot — lips once
embraced its rim — when it held
good — strong drink, to cool
raging need or temper want.

I didn’t just see a lost sock
today — in the street
— it once warmed a tiny foot and
now, to me, that foot is now cold
— its mate left unmatched.
an enigma on laundry day
is born.

The wad of blackened
sneaker stamped, discarded
gum fused to the pavement
was once sweet to someone.

the pinecone, fallen from the
mother tree, wasn’t just a pinecone
fallen, it was once a vestige of
a beautiful living breathing
entity surviving and thriving
during volatile seasonal change.

It had not completely opened to
form the tiny brown Christmas tree
I love to see.