A cop car door was cracked open – do I take it for a ride?

Dried milk on the asphalt existed in someone’s hand once. Now streaked like saliva from a rabid dog, the small carton – a mouth agape. I was trying to imagine the instant the high schooler smashed the small cardboard heart to the ground. Was he laughing? Was he fighting? Were his friends egging him on? 50 feet away a half empty Turkey Hill Tea bottle rests on its side. The liquid calm as a lake. Who are these people who throw their plastics around? Leave them on newspaper stands – the ice melted from a Dunkin’ cup diluting the last sips no straw can ever suck? Who are these people that force their trash into others lives? And who am I that I didn’t have the arms to pick it up?

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