One Man's Personal Party....Prose

The squeaky wheel of a shopping cart caught me before the morning dew a tattered figure pushing the limits of both collecting his pot of gold called aluminum Gene Pitney blared from a radio its battery hanging out, broken antenna had to be an am station for one could hear the cb'ers he was a vietnam vet a war fought long ago yet daily within his mind backfiring cars bringing sweat and fear shell shocked by the same aluminum he collects "good morning sir" may I have the cans in your trash thoughts of the antique roadshow flash who am I to "trash" the hopes of others I grant him permission like a king hath pity upon humble servants greedy eyes brighten toward the mother lode of pittance recycled life is so ironic using empty cans to purchase full ones we all find a way to cope within our own personal party......