Mr. Picks-Up-Litter — Coffee Cup, Plastic Bag, Onward

Lyrics

There's a fold in your back pocket.
A small square of nylon, waiting.
The sun's not even over the roof of the laundromat.
Just you, and the empty bag, and the block waking up.
First, the coffee cup, by the drain.
A ghost of warmth, a ring of brown on the concrete.
You don't sigh. You don't curse.
You just bend, a quiet hinge,
and the crinkle of the bag is the first sound of the day.
One thing made right.
The bag in your back pocket.
A promise you make to the pavement.
No one's watching, no one's keeping score.
Just the block left a little better than you found it.
Just a little more.
Then the plastic bag, a trapped kite in Mrs. Gable's hedge.
That little flick of the wrist you do,
checking for weight, for surprise.
It's empty. Just air and neglect.
You work it free from the thorns.
Another small debt paid to the morning.
The bag in your back pocket.
A promise you make to the pavement.
No one's watching, no one's keeping score.
Just the block left a little better than you found it.
Just a little more.
Sometimes it's strange things.
A single blue sock, damp with dew.
You hold it for a second, wondering about the foot it left behind.
This isn't about being clean.
It's about caring for the story.
About tending to the small, forgotten pieces.
The walk is done.
The bag has weight now. A small, lumpy burden.
You turn the key in your door.
The street behind you breathes a little easier.
And the bag in your back pocket knows.
It knows.