Trash Talk

Alerted by the beep of breaking news 

I see his name on a continuous loop

tossing out a litany of puff, 

thanking us for attention to this matter,

the likes of which.. blah, blah

which muddies the muddle

as the green garbage truck,

upon which so much depends,

embraces the blue trash can

with its yellow arms like an enormous hug,

then lifts and dumps the barbed rambles

 into its hydraulic gut,

without any deliberation,

crushing ninety gallons of malice and blather

into a fraction of its thirty-ton cargo

which is why poetry is best as concision,

shucked corn, tops off the carrots,

the distillate, barely adjectival,

as it grinds rancid words into

hard-earned mulch

from which orchards may sprout

or even a thorn of a rose pushing up 

through the floor of his ballroom.