Making Easy Things Part 12

Feb 23

It’s still cold out and the layers of ice fused my recycle bin to the ground. That box is packed with cardboard: box within box within stuffed in. I hoped to make it ’till pickup day. When the temperature warmed during afternoons, the drips from my roof soaked paper and corrugated packaging to something near pulp. Still, I packed new material on top. At nights it froze again.

Last Tuesday — the garbage day — got real cold.  I went to pull things curbward but things wouldn’t budge. I went to deadlift the blue bin and the rim busted. I kicked with my heel and the corners caved in. Now most of the plastic has cracked away and there is this dense, frozen cube-shaped pile of icy pulp at the side of my house with the rock-heavy green bin and several frozen and ripped bags of trash. I’m scared to move anything or to even look. I think that when spring comes I will line my car-trunk with plastic tarps and shovel the whole mass, indiscriminate. At the dump I’ll tie it up and spin it dripping to the pile. I will put it from my mind.
I will take toys, broken fans and half-read books from my garage. I will bring them to the incinerator. I will set my wreck of a car to neutral and let it roll into the fire. Pots, pans, and my fridge too. An off-warranty and malfunctioning washer-dryer combo. I will peel the oil-stained polyester carpet from my concrete basement floor. I will strap everything I own into the mass.

My middle class farce will burn and rise into a black carbon cloud. It will spread wide over my city. It will rain flaming plastic drips down over the less fortunate. I will run naked to the mountains where I can look down upon the changes.