By: Jasmine Nihmey-Vasdi

The classrooms filled with signs for recycling
And bins lined up against the wall
Labeled with different pictures

I saw a child get smacked once for fucking around the paper bin
Thought tinfoil was hilarious
The teacher almost died

But now in the lounge.
I eat my apple, waxy
It barely even tastes like apples anymore
These days
The colours of our tongues are fading

They say our kids won’t even know
How good fresh plums tasted
How our mouths used to cry for them
Frothing through June

I watch the same teacher unwrap her sandwich
Layers of blue plastic
She throws the sticky waves into the toilet
And moves into the hallway.