soda can: a poem

my daughter handed me
a mostly empty,
partially crushed,
soda can and said,
“look what I won today.”

I replied:

what? an empty can?
wasted engine metal?
hollow aluminum shell of carbonated acid?
congealed remains of diabetes and heart disease?
cylindrical container of unnecessary vice?
corn syrup confectioned capitalism?
a billboard of athletes that don’t consume it?
150 empty, body rejecting calories?
12 oz of brown death, 38 mg of caffeine
(less than a cup of coffee, the poorer alternative)?
nutrition facts that decry anything but nutrition?

or maybe:

a symbol of American commercialism?
a modern art project on consumption?
a metaphor of empty lives after satisfaction?
a reminder to recycle, reduce, and reuse?

and she replied:

“no, dad.
just a soda.”

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This is a poem from my first book, bearing the burden of existence, available on Amazon.