Dear Open-Top Trashcan 'neath Jefferson's visage,
I have finished my pretzel, salt and mustard and dough,
and now I must my wax paper throw.
Your friends with big-bellies I'd not neglect,
but your convenience is one I most certainly detect.
As I chewed my bites final, relishing each,
I saw Philly's Finest beginning to teach.
A couple or two, maybe drunk, maybe sober,
creating a scene, just a street over.
"Calm yourself please," came forth from his mouth,
the demeanor suggesting he'll knock your ass out.
Yet they yelled and they screamed with a voice most bestial,
whiled I chewed on my chewy Philadelphia Soft Pretzel.
As any good citizen, I ignored their plight,
despite the small riot they tried to incite.
And so I'm now ignorant, despite claims of injustice,
about which that the whole street's fuss is.
I chewed the last of my chewy soft pretzel,
admiring its dough, its salt, its mustard most tasteful.
And I found you most useful, fine open-top trashcan,
lurking beneath that independence gentleman.
As I needed to dispose of some slimy wax paper,
it once held a pretzel - to my fingers, a favor.
THANK YOU open-top trashcan, you're really the best.
You've prevented a sticky fingery mess.