Sorry in Advance for Littering

I’m a mylar balloon floating up in the sky,

crinkling and waving at planes passing by

I’m floating up, up, and growing out, out,

to the day I explode, and start my journey back down.

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Pieces of mylar, falling to Earth

do they remember what they used to be worth?

Back when they still carried gas from the store?

Back when what’s left was substantially more?

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Inanimate scraps settle into the dirt.

They never had feeling: No pleasure, no hurt.

Not working, not resting, become nevermore,

No better, no worse, now than before.

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