The Wrapper by Adrian Slonaker

Just after dusk on Duckworth Street,
it lay helpless,
rapaciously ripped open
on chilled pavement
as self-absorbed pedestrians
stepped over it—
a Fry’s Turkish Delight wrapper.
The shiny magenta hue with words
exploding in pseudo-exotic font,
still flashy and attractive
no longer mattered since the
chocolate and rose jelly
prized by consumers had been plucked.
Should I discard the wrapper into the dumpster
as a nod to earth-beautifiers everywhere
or leave it for the relief of a dateless dude
who might’ve drunkenly doodled a ginger’s number on it
or of a grieving teacher who might’ve saved the casing
of the final cherished confection chosen
by her recently deceased dad?
The wind decided for me,
carrying the wrapper into rush-hour traffic,
where I last spotted it kissing
an Uber driver’s rear tire.