Space Junk by Maggie Ball

Its purpose outlived
orbiting your beating, bleeding core
explosion fragments, paint flakes, slag, and dust
erosive particles
emotional litter
beginning to rust.

There are four million pounds
of this crap
ready to turn
discarded trash
to lethal missile.

You drag one leg
after another
weighed down
clanking a lifetime’s supply
of heavy metals
and pollutants.

Gasping for oxygen
you thrash on the couch
dredging the junkheap of the past
back and forward
through inner space
burning your personal debris
the ugly remnants of the past
in the boiling atmosphere
of the present.

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One response to “Space Junk by Maggie Ball

  1. This sultry scene of pollution and fatigue matches that of my city in summer.

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