Rich Arsenault Poet Rhyme

Cans in his hands

I stand at my counter
Black gloves in hands
I count out the empties
Countless bottles and cans
 
The pay isn't much
Working at the Beer Store
But I'm a lot better off
Than those who dirty our floors.
 
You've got pimply face kids
With their nervous laughs
You've to smart dressed executives
Feeling out of their class.
 
You've got the working class Joe
With a 24 in hand
And then there's the homeless
With cans in his hands
 
     I shudder inside
     And feel kind of sad
     When I see the old man
     With the cans in his hands
 
He walks in all dirty
Shuffling his feet
Throws his cans on the counter
Which he found on the street.
 
My head turns away
His breath, I can't stand
For here comes the man
With the cans in his hands.
 
He argues with me
When I give his change
Says those are worth more
At the bottle exchange.
 
He curses and swears
But he's out of luck
As he orders a Tall Boy
More beer for his buck.
 
I look down at the empties
Wondering where they've been
What sorrows they've drowned
What horrors they've seen.
 
They're shipped to the plant
To be filled up again
To give some respite
To a world full of pain.
 
     I shudder inside
     And feel kind of sad
     When I see the old man
     With the cans in his hands.

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