Garbage Hill

Today’s hike

Took me deep into the woods.

Beautiful old trails

Snake these hillsides.

In the thick of it

Just below this rock

I’ve just sat on

To write this

An entire hillside

Is the burial ground

For man-made castoffs:

Glass bottles in green and brown

A smashed up blue toilet

Rusted springs

Doll parts

Pie tins

Paint cans.

I think about coming back

With Harold

For the treasure hunt

Of his dreams.

It’s a beautiful day.

I could stay out here


No phone

No watch

No one to keep track of

No one to tell me no

When I veer off the path

No one to find me

When I get lost.

I find my own way home,

Taking the long way,

Instead of the shortcut

Up the steep hills.

I pass trees hit by lightning

Still standing;

Deer bones;

And return to the cast-off mess

To Garbage Hill.

Beer bottles and pie tins.

Betadine and Pepsi-Cola.

Shoes, bedpans, broken plates.

I slide over them

Hidden as they are under their blanket of dry leaves

And wonder how far down I would roll.


4 thoughts on “Garbage Hill”

  1. sounds beautiful, and relaxing; unplugged bliss
    reminds me of a stone wall farm border with a trinket pile when I was a kid
    my friends and I would sometimes poke around, hoping to find an intact “antique” bottle


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