We see them puffed and glistening
in the median of the road,
they spawn in local grocery stores
their numbers are untold.
The ubiquitous plastic shopping bags
wave from branches of the trees,
blighting the country's roadways
undulating in the breeze.
Puffed up and floating gently
or snagged down in the ditch,
let loose by careless citizens
some littering son of a bitch.
Deflated ones peek shyly
from the bracken and the weeds,
sterile and barren refuse
not productive like the seeds.
Handy when we are shopping
but useless when we are done,
windblown like the tumbleweed
but ugly where they get hung.
Paper bags or plastic
the modern convenient way,
each tree and fence defiled
is the price we have to pay.
by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved
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