Analysis of Scribbles (II)—The Trash Can

It’s a simple trash can
that draws my attention
on this cold morning
when words once more
are fleeing.

Wrist bent, balled paper held,
“It’s a bird, it’s a plane”
tossed, landing inside,
“It’s superman!”

There’s nothing remarkable
about its appearance,
molded of white plastic,
sleek sides, rounded lip,
liner held with elastic.

Wrist bent, balled paper held
“She shoots, she scores!”
tossed, landing inside,
“The crowd roars!”

It sits in the corner
across the room
catching discarded rhyme
on paper balls, crinkled,
filling up in time.

Wrist bent, balled paper held,
“She flies through the air
with the greatest of ease…”
tossed, bouncing off, missed.