Saturday, August 01, 2009

The Scavengers

Its late
Its dark

and the only sound
comes from
the loud rattle of cans.

I don't have to see
to know the
scavengers are going through
the trash lookin for

I hear them-
aluminum crashing
against its
like colorful atoms smashing into one another
in plastic bags

I hear them-
rummaging through-
like miners in the gold rush
laying claim to our street.

this is money
others have the thrown out.

dirty money
from black trash bags,
like body bags-

intended to carry away the dead,
the old
the useless.
to be buried
and forgotten

the scavengers
know no shame in this-
know no pride in this
they know only need.

i feel sorry for them-

only because,
we never have
any cans
in our trash bin-

we know need, as well.
we are scavengers too.


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