A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
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USED ONCE AND THROWN AWAY
When I was a child
We would go to the general store,
Returning empty bottles
That were full the week before.
Mom would by a cartridge
To refill her ballpoint pen.
And Dad would buy a blade
And use his razor once again.
But now we have forgotten
All the lessons we had learned.
We mark our soda bottles:
“No deposit, no return.”
All things are disposable:
Daddy’s razors, baby’s diapers,
Paper plates and paper towels,
Ballpoint pens and cigarette lighters.
Used once and thrown away,
Used once and thrown away,
All things are disposable,
Used once and thrown away.
When I was a youth
I did not want to go to war.
No one could explain to me
What we were fighting for.
Yet I never second-guessed
The brave young men who risked their lives,
Or died a lonesome hero’s death,
Never more to see their wives.
But those who made it home alive,
With their price already paid,
Received no hero’s welcome,
No ticker-tape parade,
No thanks from those they fought for,
No job with decent pay.
Many now are on the street,
Used once and thrown away.
Used once and thrown away,
Used once and thrown away,
All things are disposable,
Used once and thrown away.
Now I am a grown adult
And getting on in years.
I have tried to get established
In a lucrative career.
I am a man of honor
Who can only tell the truth,
So I became a teacher
And a friend of fledgling youth.
But I found that all my chosen fields
Had fallen out of fashion,
And that no one wants a teacher
Who has knowledge, hope, and passion.
I am temporary, part-time help,
No benefits, low pay,
And now it is my turn to be
Used once and thrown away.
Used once and thrown away,
Used once and thrown away,
All things are disposable,
Used once and thrown away.
Canton, New York, 1994
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