Trash Mountain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Children Stories  |  House: YOUNG Publishers

This story is dedicated to our planet. We love you!

Submitted: December 08, 2017

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Submitted: December 08, 2017



Did you ever stop for a moment to consider,
what happens to all of that trash and that litter?

You know...

The stuff you throw out every hour, every day,
the scraps from your dinner, that flower bouquet...

The Styrofoam cups and cracked dinner plates,
banana peels and your funky old skates.
Stale french fries and hardwood crates,
an outdated map of the forty-eight states...

Where do you think they go? Trash Mountain.

The lumpy old bits of your dog's pillow bed,
some questionable slices of cinnamon bread.
The long lost eyes of a Barbie doll head,
a souvenir chunk from a caterpillar tread.
Your mom's old magazines that she still hasn't read,
a worn-out cassette tape of the Grateful Dead.

The moldy remains of a kiwi fruit,
a missing left boot or a bamboo flute.
A strange figurine that was made in Beirut, 
the goggles and hat from a test pilot's suit.
Three jars of rancid unicorn root,
a most flattering portrait of a fire-belly newt.

Where do you think it goes? Trash Mountain.

The very last bits of an apple core,
those ripped-up jeans that you used to adore.
A broken old pitcher that will no longer pour,
the dates of the Peloponnesian war.
A suspicious canister of uranium ore, 
the rug that once covered your parquet.

Six cotton balls and a Q-tip swab,
the keys to your parents' 98 Saab.
A recipe card for lamb shish-kebab,
piles of brokerage statements from Schwab.
From your brother's closet, a sticky green blob
(the clean-up most definitely an unpleasant job)...

Where do you think it goes? Trash Mountain

From yesterday's lunch, a sandwich bag,
that boring old hat that still has a price tag.
A homeopathic cure for jet-lag,
that curious piece of a red checkered flag.
Your sister's half-melted plastic horse toy,
take-out boxes of Chicken Bok Choy.
Your Dad's old wooden mallard decoy,
some tofu meat-substitute, made from real soy...


A torn brochure from the A.C.L.U.
The battered remains of a stuffed kangaroo.
A Triple AAA map of Kalamazoo,
directions in French for Timbuktu.
Six hardened bottles of Elmer's Glue,
a left-over bowl of that vegetable stew.

Where do you think it goes? Trash Mountain.

The crusty bits of a deep-dish slice,
that strange shampoo for your great-uncle's lice.
An uneaten bowl of steamed brown rice,
imported Genmai, to be precise.
An electromagnetic warning device,
a melting pool of Arctic pack ice...

A little tugboat and a whaler's harpoon,
a cat, a cradle, and a silver spoon.
Broken clocks that always flash midnight (or noon),
a no-longer-used lime green weather balloon.
A VHS copy of Frank Herbert's Dune,
the swinging front door of a Western Saloon...

Where do you think it goes? Trash Mountain.  

Trash Mountain! Trash Mountain!
Will it ever stop growing?

Will it soon reach the moon?
There is no way of knowing...  

So how can we stop this Mt. Everest of junk,
this tower of garbage that smells like a skunk?

Can you think of a thing that you use every day,
that you'd use only once and then throw it away?

Maybe you could live without it awhile?
Would it make your life tough or cramp your style?
Or could you get by, and try to make do,
living each day with a new point-of-view
that perhaps if we all used a little bit less, we'd finally be able to clean up this MESS.

© Copyright 2018 Mira Mayflynn. All rights reserved.

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