Garbage Man

[carndo]

Remembrance of those odors
pristine in the memory
of the streets sheltered in the dark,
Old shoes and dead meat,
But one man's garbage is another man's treat,
The garbage man knows you
from the things you throw away,
seeing your old TV that still works
means you can pay,
So when you leave your home
and the garbage man's due,
Make sure you lock your doors
and take your VISA too,
To dream all those possibilities
are within your reach,
Yet in the philosophy of garbage
anything goes,
And behind the restaurant with the sign
that says,
Eat At Joes,
He eats his lunch
with the flies and a putrid stench,
Those old soggy
french fries
are his only companions
cause he eats old onions,
Yet in the hot summer day
sweltering in the sweat
smokin' reafer
held past those memories
lost in the distance,
I can smell road kill
cooking from sunlight,
And noonday sun,
Reminds me of my mountain momma's cookin',
Mmmmm.....
possum gravy!
Slides down so easy
with a piss warm brew,
Free for the taking,
Held only in the twilight zone,
And if I keep writing at this mode,
the little white men in their little white coats
will come take me away,
But that's ok
as long as they give me pills
in all colors,
Red, green with grape juice,
I won't try to escape
to my palace of moldy fruit and dead mice,
And there's always an encore of crickets and grasshoppers
with a touch of roaches to top off the meal,
But to switch from pills to such
a sumptuous meal is a rotten deal,
The decision hurts me head,
I wish I was back in my bed,
Because I can dream of a place so pristine,
With pills and moldy green hot dogs,
Where my hunger is assuaged for both,
It doesn't matter that I'm caged,
And now I'm watching the sunrise
and hear the jailers coming up the hall,
Calling breakfast time!
What will they serve?
Hmmm....
I wonder?
Probably something bland,
Cuz they don't know the true
taste of real good food!
When the slime trickles down your throat,
This sting is what it's all about
to a garbage man,
All you need is the smell of rancid trout,
And the twist of it all
is this...
Stay away from roadkill
and garbage hills,
Or you could be as twisted
as we are without the use of pills.

July 21, 2000

By: B.E. Whitehorn & Allan Perry

[moonflower]

whew!.. i dont think i'll ever look at garbage in quite the same way again!

[Debbie]

this poem sure had a different odor about it...
something fishy...
my goodness this was such a different poem..and I could picture this..
it reminded me of the dead beaver we saw in the ditch..a bunch of turkey vultures were feasting on....


Well done your imagery's were real enough that I could see the garbage...

[carndo]

when one does kareoke late at night...
there's no telling what one will think of.
this was the case when allen & I did this.

[Debbie]

that is so cool...