Beer cans roll in the wind
On the roof of my apartment building
Sometimes I swear inanimate objects
Have ulterior motives

Whose lips ****** relaxation
Out of that can?
Whose hand crushed it into a crumpled wind instrument
And left it lying on the ground
When it had nothing left to give?

When, if ever, will the wind blow it down
From this rooftop onto the street below?
Then where will it go?