I killed an inanimate object today

But only in metaphor.

I left a corpse to gather dust there,

To help its fate, I couldn't muster,

To stoop and bend down to the floor.

The vagabond wreck I gave not love,

Not a rattled clink of change of heart.

I didn't read his little card.

I passed him, among the refuse,

Like something in the gutter,

As he drank whiskey from a Starbucks cup.