Garbage
They had a hasty meal of bones
Lest the dogs should hear them
They buried their heads to explore
Dried rutabagas and stale scones.
It was their world ravaged by bulls
Cats, crows, goats and ghosts
In the skinny island they roamed
In search of prehistoric tools.
Have you heard an eldritch screech
In the sunset hour on some Goan beach?
They are bone-pickers of a squalid slum
Running like a crazy in the city bedlam.
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
Theme: Garbage
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