Pantoum for Recycling

I enjoy dumpster diving.

It mortifies my friends

when I rescue plastic from the trash.

Doesn’t it belong there! they cry.

I mortify my friends

into purchasing entire wardrobes.

She doesn’t belong here! they cry

and throw their principles away.

They purchase entire wardrobes of Lunchables.

PVC, baby: dioxin just waiting to melt.

They throw their principles into methane

mining: dumpster diving on a gaseous scale.

PVC, baby. It makes me melt—

into grass slime, crusty diapers, the heart from—

oh, never mind! Dive in with me; get gassed!

Let’s find that worn shoe and the old woman who lived in it.

Diapers, giblets, drywall, fencewood—all rotting

into the melting pot of used-up American dreams.

Just toss it—but, please, let’s keep the old woman.

How we miss our elders, who knew how

to reuse. America’s latest melting pot

repels the young, who inhabit our bodies, recycled.

How we miss our elders, who knew better.

What a pity they raised us to waste.

For the young, who inhabit our bodies, recycled,

I rescue plastic from the trash.

Raised to waste, I am recovering my cast-offs.

And still I enjoy dumpster diving.

Published in Progenitor, April 2007

©Beth Partin 2007. All rights reserved.