garbage island

i feed you chocolates
& when you leave to go home i pick
the wrappers out of
the trash, separate them & 
lay them out nice like pressed petals:
foil kiss, red kitkat dress, 
peppermint patty pillow case.

in the back yard i claw at the dirt
to press the wrappers into soil.
i want to grow a bed 
of peanut-butter cups: their bright
milk chocolate faces blinking
towards the neon light bulb sun.

yesterday you said again
"we live on garbage island," & 
all day i observed the flora
& the fauna. 

with binoculars i spotted
chip bags fluttering towards
the north shore, shiny & blue,
they must have been females.

i kept a list walking 
to the bus: gum slip, big gulp hat,
a bouquet of chewed straws.

i come to the one tree
on my street that cracks
the side walk: a tired oak.
tearing at the bark,
i want to know if the tree
is made of garbage too.
the wood comes off like 
a plastic wrapper, smooth & 
unnatural. inside: a trash bag liner
that i break open to find 
exactly what i knew was there:

sandwich suites & shriveled
apples cores & used up lighters.
all of it, so beautiful.

i crawl inside for the rest
of the evening diving 
dumpster deep in island. 

what would you think of me
if you discovered me there?
would you mistake me for 
a body of trash? i hope so
i hope so. 

this is how you take
off my dress, tear the corner,
toss it out the car window:
let the wind do it's work.
make an island.