A poem by Oliva Juarez:
Is seated in the inability for producers to realize the capital inherently devised of post-consumer
Is seated in the over-optimistic dogma, telling “if you are recycling then you are saving the planet.”
Because you’re not,
You’re just prolonging it’s passion.
and I sit, a giant, unwanted fallacy of recycled plastics
Waiting, longing, hoping
To be turned into a hair brush, or a pair of shoes.
But nobody wants me
except the Chinese
to turn into cheap, thinly sliced packaging
To dress your new colander
Which shall strain your lentil based pastas.
Couldn’t I be a colander too?
“Made in the USA!”
What a great creation my life would be
From yogurt cups and milk cartons
through Utah’s own post-consumer transforming facility.
But nobody can hear me
I cannot utter words
Except the joy of being separated
By the brown-skinned hands inside the MRF*
Oh, Rocky Mountain Recycling
Over this wealth you hover
With nothing to do but harbor and prospect
That empty China-bound barges
Will call for the fruit of my idle petroleum.
*Pronounced, “murf”. An acronym for Material Recovery Facility.