Metalmen
They come by,
about once a month,
blasting out their
tinny cacophony of
Mariachi music, and their guttural roars
of “any old iron? any scrap metal?”.
These
are the scavengers
of quiet urban life,
they occupy a humble space
in our world, they do
it with pride and with joy.
They do us all a great service,
and yet,
they get no thanks in return.
Theirs is a job which
wakes us all from our mid-morning
slumber, and retreats
quietly from outside our homes,
unseen. Unnoticed.
Unappreciated.
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