USA

dddero@wm.edu 

Conservation

I stare at the paper,
and it stares back at me,
impassively, as paper does.
I snatch it up, and twist it
and bend it, and rip it and
mend it. I furiously fling 
ink upon it in convoluted
whorls and swirls. Every 
inch of my mind impresses
itself into the very fabric of
the paper. I smooth it out.
I stare at the paper,
and it stares back at me, 
impassively, as paper does.

I stare at a man, he holds
a ticket in one hand, and
emptiness in another. 
Muttering magical mantras, he
attempts to turn a ticket into
tender. Swearing and cursing,
wheedling and nursing. He flings
it to the ground, where it jostles
with emptiness for space.
Disconsolately, he wanders 
to the train stop.
I stare at a man, he holds
a ticket in one hand, and
emptiness in another. 

I stare at the paper,
it flutters and flaps in the wind.
The wind, where it was
abandoned, delivers it to my
feet. I pick it up.
it has six words written on it . . .
'I am a piece of paper'.
I stare at the paper,
it flutters and flaps in the wind. 

All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.