Getting my Religion at the Gray Dump

by David Jordan

Sunday morning at the Gray
dump, I am getting my religion,
as is half the town.

Plastic bags of trash are
into the trash compactor.
Tires in the tire bin, waiting
for reincarnation on the road.
Glass tumbling into the glass bin
ready for renewal.

People leave a stereo,
a baby swing, tools;
giving and receiving unto
a new life.

Dumping bottles, cans, and cardboard
from the yesterdays of the weeks before,
My life flashes before my eyes—into the bin,
recycled.