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October 9, 2017 | by  | in Poetry |
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Archive of Trash

1. Green plastic bag draping fork in the tree.

2. Wooden toy (a chubby horse or cow) with dangling legs, draped next to the green plastic bag.

3. Dirty jar — would be big enough to pickle something in. About the same size as the jar with a lid that didn’t fit that I pickled carrots in when I was grumpy. No lid on this dirty jar.

4. Ugly wooden-body upholstered-seat (red spilling out) chair I would never want to own even when it was in its prime but is just the right height to climb in my bedroom window if it was unlocked and you wanted to.

5. Big yellow plastic bag, looks like there is a high vis something in it, orange and silver but it might be an optical illusion.

6. Big black box television. (Where do all the old televisions go?)

7. Plastic container that used to (still could) have Christmas fruit mince in it.

8. One corner of black and green striped knitted textile, very grimy.

9. Blue fizz can.

10. Black and gold beer can.

11. A plank, fake wood looking but maybe real wood underneath (surely).

12. Orange and white Palmer’s shopping bag full of more trash (or potting mix).

13. Gridded maroon plastic, many pieces.

14. Newspaper turned green like moss.

15. Buried Moore Wilsons bag x 2 (fancy).

16. Black plastic toolbox with orange on the handle.

17. Metal pole, rusty where the white paint has come off.

18. Metallic pink pen.

19. Half buried bucket. GIB Plus 4: All Purpose Joining Compound. CAUTION: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN.

20. White bits of wall leaning on the house wall, says:

Mahina Bay Builders

Langridge Job

Broom Cupboard

Handwriting looks like boys from school.

21. Thought there were white paint splotches over everything but they are petals from the tree.


Our landlord wants to buy the house next door but the elderly woman who owns it refuses to sell and that’s what capitalism’s all about right you can’t make anybody do anything they don’t want to do you can’t force anyone into a contract a contract is all about consent.

(Of course, I never asked to be born, I never consented to capitalism).

Nobody lives there but sometimes when it’s raining we can hear people.

I wanted to clear out the trash visible from my bedroom window but I don’t like hard labour and anyway it is a daily reminder of capitalism’s potent contradictions. Capitalism is about efficiency, and more, but it is also meant to be about consent i.e. freedom. You can’t have both.

What about a politics of inefficiency.

Was the broom cupboard taken out of the house or did it never get put in?

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