When walking along on the road,
An object appeared, so I slowed.
It was probably tossed
From a car that had crossed;
The surprise on my face must have showed.
‘Twas a pickle, a deli-type spear,
Maybe packed with a sandwich? Unclear.
Crisp and green, its appeal
Would add much to a meal
Of a passing black bear or a deer.
Still, the person who flung it outside
Didn’t mean for a snack to provide.
He was likely a smug
Type of littering bug,
Maybe pickled himself, for the ride.
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