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......
Copyright © Bob Shank | Year Posted 2006
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