Type Dancing

Is this the end, stuck
In a muddy, smelly streamlet
At the bottom of a hill?
I can hear traffic on the road above
And sense the occasional pedestrian
Striding down the sidewalk.
I don’t think they can see me
Lying on my side, rusting,
A bit banged up, missing a wheel.

It wasn’t always like this.
Not too long ago I was popular,
Busy with my fellow carts
At the local supermarket,
Gliding down the aisles
On well oiled wheels,
Shiny and new, proudly
Accepting the groceries
Placed in my basket,
Giving children a safe ride.
Why, once I even had my picture taken
When I spent two hours slowly rolling
In front of a woman carefully checking
Her coupons until she bought $500
Worth of goods for $35.

But things took a turn for the worst
One night when one of the bag boys
Gathering carts in the parking lot
Missed me – I was hidden by a parked van
At the far end – and I spent a cold night
Shivering and lonely.
The next day, some kids found me.
Two of them sat in my basket while another
Pushed as fast as he could, making
Dangerous turns and nearly toppling me over.
Then they found one of my brother carts
And played demolition derby with us.
I hated smashing into him, but
I had no choice.

Later, they abandoned me
Next to a large trash bin behind
The market, where a homeless man,
Dumpster diving late one night,
Filled me with his belongings;
Bent cans, rotting produce and
Cardboard boxes and newspapers
That would serve as his bed under a highway bridge.

His name was Moe and I was with him for a long time,
Pushed down the backstreets during the day,
While he collected bottles and cans to cash in
For some booze at the local liquor store;
Sometimes parked me outside the Mission
While he copped a free meal.
But mostly, we spent the time scouting
New dumpsters to scour.

I started to deteriorate, rust,
My right front wheel trembled,
Sometimes shaking uncontrollably.
And then one day, while pushing me
Slowly along the sidewalk
That now seems to tower so far above me,
Moe stumbled and fell and
With one last push I tumbled down the hill.
I heard sirens and never heard from Moe again.

I hope he’s all right.
I enjoyed the nights with him and his friends,
Getting drunk on bottles of cheap wine,
Listening to their stories of past adventures.
I really miss those times,
Maybe even more than
My grocery glory days.
I loved being able to travel, see new sights,
Belong to somebody.
I wonder what’s next.
Is this really the end?