The Great Garbage Patch: Place 9

A swift cold wind blows across the Preserve. I am waiting for the snow. From my bench spot I have a clear view of the pond. In between is a garbage can that always seems to be full. The wind has picked up a Wonderbread bag and a Starbucks cup and is blowing them around in front of me. It reminds me of the Great Garbage Patch, or Pacific Gyre, a Texas-sized island of garbage floating around the Pacific Ocean. I read somewhere once that the earth cannot digest plastic (I like the word digest in this context) and by in large all the plastic that has ever been created is still around. So, of course, everyone thinks the Great Garbage Patch is just a terrible thing. But has anyone considered the merits of it? I mean, if we can’t get rid of plastic, then maybe we should embrace it.

First of all, it might be the best representation of humankind that we could have ever created, and we did it by accident. When the aliens land and try to figure out what we’re about, all they need to do is check out the Garbage Patch. So much of what we use on a daily basis is surely floating around in it. From shampoo bottles and toothbrushes to candy wrappers and condoms, what better way to study a species than through their waste, especially the waste that will never go away. And as far as patches go, it’s got to be number one. It beats the heck out of a pumpkin patch. It’s more utilitarian and colorful. A pumpkin patch is just orange. The Garbage Patch is full of vivid colors and probably some of those plastic Halloween pumpkins that will never rot.

The other important thing to consider about the Patch is its artistic merit. From the sky it’s got to look beautiful, like a giant swirling Pollack. Thos aliens must think we’re incredibly talented. Think of the Patch, which is the size of Texas, as a giant sculpture of everyday objects. Where else are you going to see Coke and Pepsi bottles spooning like lovers on top of a bed made of Styrofoam LCD TV packaging? No where else, my friend, only the Great Garbage Patch.

We could even turn it into an art museum, charge admission, make it a tourist destination. Or we could send people there that we don’t otherwise want around, like insurance companies and politicians. We could make it the new capital of the world. So keep it I say. Besides, we can’t get rid of it anyway, unless we box it up and shoot it out into space. We could send it to the aliens, with a little Christmas card that says, “Thinking of you during the holiday season. Love, Earthlings.” Maybe then they’ll stop secretly probing us. Maybe then we’ll appreciate the Great Garbage Patch.

So I pick up the bread bag and coffee cup. I toss them on top of the already heaping can. There, I’ve done my part. I’ve added to our incredible piece of world art. I guess that makes me an artist. And I’d say an environmentalist too. Ok, I’ll end this before it gets out of control. Besides, it's starting to snow. And I'm cold.