Sacrament of the Six-Pack

Sacrament of the six-pack
at quitting time:
toss ritually can by can
to the roadside
as you ride the four-lane
home—

Listen, it isn't enough
to pick up the litter any more, that time
has come and gone

Like human teeth found
in the firepit
with charred animal bones,
blind couples
staring from old photographs,
your anonymous
empties—

Listen, no matter how deep
they bury it for you, you paid for it,
brother, it's yours

Our memory in the earth's crust
will be this: junk of
every innovation, artifacts
abandoned to the past
that will outlast us, all those forms
in triplicate
(your last
will and testament is filed there,
and mine, and all we leave
behind—)

Listen, whatever wealth you
pile up for your children, it will never be
enough