There was a child who sat by the bus stop
after school every week, who one day wore jeans
and her mother's old maroon boots
because she liked the deepness of the streaks,
but that afternoon as she walked patiently
on the sidewalk
a couple kids zoomed by,
chucking things at each other from coke
bottles to wrappers to pencils to food rinds,
yet they continued
on their way laughing without even
looking back and
the child, well, she tilted her head
staring at the strewn mess in front of
her, thinking why on earth they would do that,
because laziness is not right and their things
were left awry as the hours
drooled on one tick tock at a time;
and so the girl was there, looking, like she
could move those things
with a bulging block stare, though
it was impossible since change only happens if you
put in enough effort and care,
but alas, the bus arrived as the sunset
ensued and the girl jumped up excited for home
before suddenly halting to glare at those things in
the street, knowing she couldn't leave
them there as some parts
of the world needed to stay neat,
so the child ran quickly using both palms of
her hands to shove the
stuff in her backpack and ease the
twitching in her veins
and barely make it to her ride;
she felt good hugging newly acquired trash
since it wasn't out of impatience
but human morality
that stirred her desire well, because
after three hours of waiting nothing happened
in between, people just glanced then
shrugged then went on their way,
so while it is a clumsy
pile she has now in her stash, if she didn't
pick it up, would she have seen it tomorrow?
Yes, she probably would have.
