the boys on the garbage truck
specifically, on the leaves and sticks truck
yard waste they call it, somebody named it that
well, they’re out there this morning, on schedule
i walked out to retrieve our cans and heard their chatter
one lad laughed when he told me he was giving grief to the driver
having fun they were, keeping it light
while doing a ton of work for everyone in town
house to house they pick up heavy containers
and throw the stuff on the giant truck
i don’t know if the same crew switches trucks for the garbage
and return for the recyclables
but they keep going
every day another route
picking it up, throwing it on,
and on and on
are they paid well, or are they convicts on work parole?
hard to tell because of how young people dress these days,
returning every week, in all weather
we’re all mighty fortunate they do
Monday, June 22, 2009
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2 comments:
I love this poem. You can hear our garbage men coming a mile away. It's quiet where I live, and they play music and bs with each other. I love to listen to their cheerful noise. Good poem, Jack. I love your title, too.
Thanks, Julie.
The title comes from the 1950's when beat poets used the first line as the name of their work.
Well, sometimes I do it that way, and some times I don't.
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