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

cans

I hear them-

aluminum crashing

against its

brother

like colorful atoms smashing into one another

in plastic bags

I hear them-

rummaging through-

collecting

nuggets

like miners in the gold rush
laying claim to our street.

this is money

others have the thrown out.

dirty money

recovered

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.

09'