If I Were Woke, I’d be Naked and Starving
by Leah Mueller
My cast-off cans
and bottles rest
in corners of my kitchen
and bathroom, encased
in sturdy plastic bins.
Are the bins themselves
recyclable? I pretend
it doesn’t matter,
since I will always own
those bins. I pretend
to understand how my
waste will be transformed
from empty garbanzo cans
into glittering icons
of 21st century
eco-chic architecture,
and won’t be shipped
across oceans in barges:
belching exhaust
and discharging sewage
as they make their way
to distant countries, who
no longer want our garbage.
I create a trail of refuse,
just by existing. If I
move my weight around,
I use more resources.
Better to sit
absolutely still,
naked, but that
would get me arrested.
Guess I’ll pretend
I’m saving the
goddamned planet
by bringing my bills
and grocery receipts
and wine bottles to
the local recycling plant,
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Becoming is Superior to Being 
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