Next Time I Won't Say Anything

The drone of vocal pitch sounds
like hell to a bumble bee. If only he had told
me that wasn't worth saying out loud. No one would
believe me if I told them pickle jars talk

smack to plastic bottles cluttered
together. Boasts of slower
degeneration into atoms and sharp
edges cause plastic to look
down. There is no
reply though mass-production could

have made a nice rebuttal thought
the apple. I stopped
eating meat until I realized
celery comes out of the same ground that animals

rot in. And then I exhaled carbon
monoxide. I envy the pickle jar's slow
deteriorate. He doesn't
have to worry about turning
into dust. Not this generation. I told
all of this to the yellow and white bundle

of molecules buzzing around my
chest. He likes
colours like yellow for the same reasons.