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Poem


Pardon my condor sensitivity,
	but can I be 
dead serious candid with you
Everybody look down on me,
and talk mean about me
But, in the future, they’re gonna need me 
even nuclear more
I’m nature’s finest,
best garbage collector
My critter pals,
when they get their fill of wilderness lost you
They say to me: pick up the trash, will you please,
	when we’re through
So I do what I do best ... 
I pick the bones clean, rotting flesh and all
I devour the things other animals
don’t got the stomach for
		Circling up above,
	my telescopic olfactory senses
are searching downwind
I see some fool lost drug mules
thirstily water struggling in the wilderness
They’re slowly dying ... disoriented 
since wandering out of the way
Now unbeknownst to them,
	the desert will be their last score grave
Once they’re dead and baked,
I’m gon have me a good cadaver brownie cake
Those stashed hash mules done football kicked me good,
‘cause I’m flying high ... higher than before
Man, what an extra-point desert score!
After that sickly sweet rancid taste of victory,
I hear my coyote friends give a howl alert:
	pick-up on 
Death Valley off road tourist route, 
	cavern aisle four
But it’s too early for a lunch break,
way too rigor mortis early for me to be eating fresh meat
That poor adventurous soul was compass challenged,
and got sextant separated from the tour group
And he just pauper purchased an early expiration date,
but some things I just can’t bring myself to eat — 
I hate fresh meat!
As for now, I’m waiting patiently, 
perched on a craggy, desert mountain outcrop
	Waiting hungrily ...
for that Big Mushroom feast in the sky
Until that special day arrive,
it’s the same ol’ mundane work routine
	Garbage carcase collecting is a thankless job,
	but somebody gotta do it ... ain’t that right?
Excuse me, Ms. Mountain Lioness,
can you hand me a rib cage toothpick
from that dead prairie dog
Just give me a cleanup call 
when you’re through with the rest of it
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