What Little Shits We Were

the side compartment
in the back of your
green-now-silver
stick shift Toyota
was never cleaned.

it was an elephant graveyard
coated in decomposing high fructose
corn syrup from a Barq's root beer.

it was sweet n' sour sauce,
a discarded ninja turtle,
hot wheels,
and Big Lots! receipts.

you shifted gears and,
restrained by seat belts,
we warrior-oned away from
the tidal filth that threatened
to pour onto the back seat.

did you know?
this funky smell is not you
it's your grandchildren.

it's the pit of trash
Nick and I created
and named a name
that now escapes me.