My Junk Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

My junk.
Your junk.
Their junk and others with junk too.
Is all trash we come to value.
And that which we think of as garbage,
Seems to have everyone paying for it.
For the sleaze that it is.
Cheap to reproduce.
But complain everyone does,
About the expense and cost it takes...
To replace that garbage.
Before it becomes too late,
To be found it has been accepted...
As the junk no one would ever believe,
To value today...
Had just yesterday been thought of as garbage.
But after updating to renovate it,
With time to pass...
Is now defended to protect,
As a part of life.
Qualified to have as an entitlement.
With a wish to keep,
Others restricted...
From the garbage we claim is ours to own.
With wishes to keep it remaining that way.
Recycled.
Decade after decade from one generation to the next.
Treasured relics.
More precious than life,
To fight over, wound, maim and kill.