“8-ton limit” the sticker on the outside reads
Though the dumpster flows over with what’s been dumped.
I do not weigh 8 tons so jump in to find your love.
There are crumpled memos, torn envelopes, spent tape rolls, coffee grounds, paper, paper, paper, but
no signs of your love.

There are rotten deals and political missteps and forgotten promises and half-eaten leftovers and phone cords twisted into knots from which not even Houdini could escape and there are training manuals from 1993 and CDs filled with old promotional materials that couldn’t wait to arrive at a client’s desk, but there are
no signs of your love.

I climb out,
trying to recall,
how long I’ve
been doing this,
and notice
I need a shower.

It is, however,
not yet noon
and another
green dumpster
lies in wait
just up ahead.