Sitting in the parking lot
jammed full of SUVs, trucks and cars of all sizes, shapes and models,
I was mesmerized by the lonely plastic bag floating through the air.
Not a grocery bag, but a used ice bag, probably a 10 pound bag by the looks.
Caught in an upper altitude breeze,
the bag gently swayed above the vehicle roof,
out of reach for all those under at least eight feet tall.
Dipping, weaving, and dancing a minuet of curves and bows
I couldn’t take my eyes off of this disposable, unenvironmentally friendly piece of trash.
Being the only person sitting in a hot car with all my windows down,
sweltering in the early summer heat, I watched the lonely bag,
ignored by customers hurrying grocery laden shopping buggies through row after row, looking for their intended vehicle.
Suddenly the bag made a tremendous dive straight down to the ground,
a suicide run,
where it was crumpled into the blacktop by some uncaring land yacht looking for a parking place closest to the door.