Compromise

By Magda X

I hope, in 20 something years, my kids will see American Beauty and they will ask me about the plastic

bag.

“Did you really use them?” the way we ask about cigarette ads and people not using sun-cream. Did you

really think that was a good idea?

12 seconds use for 100 years, waiting around for it to break down. They’ll point out that every one I used,

every one my parents used, and their parents still, are here. Waiting around in some trash-pile limbo. A

limp body to preserve some fast rotting fruit.

And I’ll tell them it’s true. That I did, we all did. That we packed things that would perish in plastic that

will never die.

They’ll look at take away coffee cups and water bottles, in reruns of shows I watched growing up and

they’ll ask again.

“Did you not know?” Does the night follow day, does the tide change? “Did you no see where they

went?”

To the piles and piles on someone else’s doorstep. Wade though bottles and cups, though water you cant

drink, bottled for someone else. Shipped off and sent back, in a plastic husk, to thank you.

They will ask how I could take and not give and not notice.

And I’ll say “It saved time.” We were all in such a rush, so we mad little compromises.

Every day.

Until one day, we too were compromised.