All the President's Men
I read in the press that Donald Trump
The American president gives off a peculiar smell
that many dislike but act as if nothing
When the boy, the garbage man, picked up the waste
to the few who could hire him
He had a horse and cart, and invited me to ride
With him, he gave the rain so he could read the local
paper; I was proud to try to get the horse to walk
faster, but it knew the route and ignored me
The garage man had a peculiar smell, too, which is
normal, surrounded as he was by other people
detrious
Could it be that President Trump suffers from
the same problem
wear pajamas to breakfast if you can
this was said by my cute guy garbage man
he is a witty guy, this man named Stan
He said it to my dementia-teetering grandma Nan
She showed up in the cafeteria in her pajamas too
They have cartoon ponies on them in pink and blue
No one noticed, for the rest of them were casual at this meal.
No one hustled her back to her room, it was no big deal.
Hugo was a huge hurricane in Carolina
Unfortunately I was homeless then
Right then God being the designer
Red shelter found with kind garbage man
I had a three month old baby boy
Cherry cries for he felt my fear
Angels seem to fill amber void
Needing grace God kept us near
Embrace of His hand so dear
we run off the path, orange dog and I
Some try to get us back on it, but why do they try?
We like running off road, it feels better on our feet
At the end of the road a butcher gives my dog meat.
We run off the path, because we can.
It makes some crazy, especially the garbage man.
He toots his horn and points to the road and I laugh.
No one can tell me where to run like a giraffe.
When I was young,
knee-deeped in school,
teachers threatened.
"You'll be a garbage man.
If you don't start cracking
at those books, better then
that you shouldn't plan".
Now after grade school & a civil service test.
I'm out here in the streets.
Picking up the trash you throw away.
At seven-fourteen a week.
I have no brains; the hell I don't!
There's no pressure on this job.
I just pick up what you throw away,
and it's really not that hard.
.
My bones are creaking and my bed is squeaking
Im one short of eighty nine
Bosom friends come gather around me
Lets crack some jokes and drink some wine
Long lost relatives are looking me up
Their eye on my wealth, damn they really suck
I spend my days thinking what must I do
I want to leave it to someone who is true
There is a beggar on my street who wishes me well
I think I could leave him some and make him swell
Or the garbage man who comes knocking at my door
Cleans my porch and the verandah floor
Missionaries of charity, that’s where I will put some
For the cause of orphaned kids, lost and lonesome
Or to the church which I often visited
Where I’ve left my prayers and alms distributed
But to that crafty old woman who walked out on me
I will leave my rusty ring on the tombstone in the cemetery
We are sluggish and miserable and fighting and mean.
Our collie is dragging, she's angry as any lop-off-your-head queen.
The temperatures are heating us up in a variety of ways.
Our attitudes match the temperatures, there is no relief these days.
Our cat Poindexter Puddle Pooh is so snarly, persnickety and mad
We heard her call the garbage man a name, and it sounded like cad.
Temps have been over a hundred, mostly 112 for a month and a half.
There is no breeze, no rain, no moisture, no wind, not even a draft.
We are unruly, a mob, angry as hops, staying inside with our clan.
This is not exciting or fun by anyone's imaginative plan.
We are staying inside, but if the air conditioning breaks
I have to admit, it would be worse than ten thousand tooth aches.
We are not happy, we are nasty, we are irritable, wet to go off.
Ready to annihilate our enemies, we do eye-rolling, and plenty of scoff.
We have played video games until our eyes are too tired to see.
I wish the rain would come soon. I am starting to hate my TV.
The dog is wanting a litter box for himself, he will not go outside.
I do not blame him. With this weather, I want a cave in which to hide.
THE JUNK PILE
By Jerry May
Orange with rust and gray with weathered
worn decay,
the heap behind the shed has seen it’s useful better days.
Every discarded piece of junk layered in the miscellaneous maze,
once was brand new and factory fresh before it was forgotten and left to lay.
The underpinning of the pile an umbrella used only once and left deployed,
Borrowed from grandpa's car and carefreely turned into a toy.
The spines skewered the spokes of a girl's birthday wish now destroyed,
consequently peddled to pieces to see a cute neighbor boy.
On the rotted pink bike an essential portal of almost every day,
when growing town was more than walking distance away.
An old hand painted mailbox now uprooted and discarded into the maze,
now a comfortable home for spiders and mice to play and live during the day.
There a mix of assorted wire, wood and metal violated with corroded nails and screws,
in a snarl of waiting tetanus all serving a purpose or two.
The most recent additions on the heap and a sign of modern times,
an outdated computer and a microwave that the garbage man denied.
the garbage man comes
picking up yesterday’s memories
in plastic bags
and wooden boxes
leaving behind
empty tin pails
to be filled up again
with today’s remains
She speculated in the morning that the dump truck might not come.
But it did.
So she worried that it might fall apart in front of her driveway, blocking her in,
But it did not.
She then speculated that the garbage man might ask her for a cool drink of water,
So she took it out,
But by the time she had laboriously climbed the sixteen outside steps
And finally arrived at the curb, the enormous green garbage truck was gone.
She speculated that the driver had sped up so he would not have to drink her water.
Not entertaining a single thought that she might have been wrong.
She is luxuriously swinging in her freshly-painted porch swing now,
Worrying over and over that her mailman might trip over the rusty garden rake
That her husband left lying across their sidewalk last night.
What if he breaks his neck? She thought.
What will we do then?
Will he sue us?
She spent the whole
Day worrying and
Speculating.
Never thinking
To simply
Move the
Rake.
Had a dream last night, I was the ruler of a land
Made weekends four days long, imagine if you can
How popular I was
Cheered and beloved
Then I woke and realized my job was a garbage man
Police and fire sirens blare
An early emergency somewhere
Neighbor’s water squeaking thro’ the pipes
Two cats clawing each other’s stripes
Traffic hums and honks, tires squeal
In such a hurry…what’s the big deal?
Mower of lawns and whacker of weeds
Garbage man missed: in-reverse beeps
Nearby pickup started and revved up loud
I’m not quite used to this urban crowd
Cell phone buzzes, again I slap the snoozer
I wonder: would I prefer a rooster?
Busy shadows follow him on his route
Eyes collecting people dressed in a suite
Every sweat filled day he tells his story
His love’s labor for family glory
In his job syringe needles are not strange
Trash piles giving us a life in exchange
Pill boxes color putrid plastic bags,
torn and ejected body’s broken rags
We must remove what life has rejected
For families we mend lives affected
We endure when families are in need
Much more than just our families to feed
We deliver no matter the day’s length
Families depend on their father’s strength
Had a dream last night, I was the ruler of a land
Made weekends four days long, imagine if you can
How popular I was
Cheered and beloved
Then I woke and realized my job was a garbage man
Little Mary, who lives next door, and I think that we have the nicest garbage man...
And every week he comes and empties out our garbage can.
He's just as nice as he can be...
And often he stops and talks with little Mary and me.
Little Mary's mom doesn't like his smell...
But then again she doesn't know him well.
Our garbage man is so nice to little Mary and me...
He's kind and friendly like I want to be.
He comes each week and empties out our garbage can...
And he seems to be such a good and Godly man.
TK<
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