Progress

The by-products of progress are things past their use,
No longer the fashion we discard as refuse;
To landfills and tips are discretely assigned
Replaced by new items all custom designed.

There once was a time when we passed items on
To others to use but these days are long gone;
We'd rather discard with the minimum fuss
The things that we now see as superfluous.

I see in such waste metaphorical twist;
Will I likewise join the dispensable list?
Could there yet come a time when I'm out of date?
When someone decides "let us now terminate?"

Perhaps you consider me somewhat morose;
Entertaining such thoughts is to you rather gross,
And perhaps you are right, such will never take place,
I'm wasting my time meditating on waste.

The green garbage truck makes its way down our street,
I know that it's filled with all kinds of excrete;
Grim sound of compaction sends chills down my spine--
Has the metaphor morphed to malevolent sign?

Vincent Lyons.