I thought about pouring it down the storm
drain on my street. The ocean
harmonizes dark and discordant futures.
Or under night's binding I could pour
the tainted mixture in my neighbor’s large yard.
His fence rattles against lengthening summer winds.
But I’ve left the bucket out there
behind the broken bicycle pump and among
the splintering leaves blown in and crumbling stucco
blown down and cracked terra cotta pots filled
with pests and tares counting on tomorrow’s sun
to evaporate the waste I keep
stirring up, the plans
I have for this bucket.
Nick Maurer received an MFA from UC Irvine. He lives in California. Website: jnmaurer.com