The Garbageman

He knows

I pass by your windows while you may be “REMing”. Minds and bodies in rest, souls awakened.

I can imagine what happened last night, No 12 of the road; I saw the broken vase in your trash. Did you fight with your husband again?

You weren’t so hungry, No 14. All your food is in the garbage.

An empty box of sleeping pills. Why do you need these, No 16? Why do you refuse to slow down your brainwaves? What are you afraid of?

There’s an unfinished letter; a crumpled confession. You changed your mind, No 18. You won’t send it. Or maybe you rewrote it and you’ll do the big step in the end.

Dippers and cans of powdered baby milk. Oh, you probably hear me now, No 20. I bet you’re sleepless for months.

Empty bottles of beer. Lots of them. I know you miss your wife, No 22. Almost nothing in your garbage declares food consumption. You don’t eat.

And here’s a book. “Throw away the past, and grow up”. Obviously, the book itself is already past for you, No 24. Maybe it “over-served” its purpose.

Closed doors and windows may divide me from your bodies, but I can sense the struggles of your souls for elevating your flesh. I know. And I understand. I’m with you. Can you sense my presence?

Anthi Psomiadou — CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 International : Credit must be given to the creator/ Only noncommercial uses of the work are permitted/ No derivatives