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To a Plastic Bag I saw discarded on Llantrisant St

Look at you there, crossing the road like a lost chicken, Poor forgotten plastic bag, floating in the wind. Discarded, forgotten. Blustering endlessly. Going nowhere. Undesired, unwanted them, What makes them go? We do. Once they called you revolutionary. Now they call you a killer. Good for nothing but one short use, and no more Destined only for your personal millennium. Your usefulness has, in all our eyes, Your master's and mine, reached its end. So goodbye little plastic bag. Fly away uselessly on the wind, fly away Into the mist of the forgotten past. You go where we all know you're going, That is, where we all want you to go, And I'll go home with my paper bag of unwrapped groceries.