Saturday Poem / Recycled Life

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I don't know
what happens to
the glass,
cans,
newspapers
that I carefully place
in separate recycling bins.
Do they go to three different factories,
where garbage plastic surgeons
magically transform them into
works of art
or empty pages
hungry for new words?
I don't know what happens,
but every morning
I do my civic duty
and organize my trash,
following the directions
written on each bin.

I do know
what happens to
the diapers,
chauffeuring keys,
neediness
that I gratefully buried
once my children grew
into adults.
They resurrect
as diapers,
chauffeuring keys,
neediness
when dementia and age
transform parents
into children.

I wish people came
with carefully written
directions.

opinion_commentary

Ronna L. Edelstein is a teacher and writer living in Oakland (rledel@aol.com).


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