My wife and I passed
a Mylar balloon hovering
over an open garbage bin
bobbing on the breeze
trying to free itself
from the trash
The roar of the garbage truck
cracked the suburban silence
as the trash truck gobbled up
the curbside containers
The balloon’s dancing
suddenly turned
into a panicked flailing
I yanked the tether free
and watched it float
Silver light dancing
as it sailed toward the sun That’s bad for the environment my wife said It wanted it to be free I replied You’re projecting she said
Projecting?
I asked
We walked in silence
Aren’t we all just trying
to free ourselves
from the trash?
I asked
It’s just a balloon
she said
Jason Fisk lives and writes in the suburbs of Chicago. He has worked in a psychiatric unit, labored in a cabinet factory, and mixed cement for a bricklayer. www.jasonfisk.com