20150724 (Garbage)

George Segal, "7 Days of Garbage," Slate magazine

Picking up trash is a thankless task

Although not totally there was 

This couple sitting on their porch

Which nowadays in itself is rare

For anyone to have that much leisure

Who saw me pick up some papers

Candy wrappers I think or silvered

Bags from munchies how they glint

In the afternoon sun I was walking

My Loki up to the library with a DVD

That wouldn’t play in my iMac 

The average is three of a 

Hundred and twenty or so duds 

I’ve returned with sticky notes 

Of their defectivity now out 

Of the blue they said thank you

How very nice of you lots more 

Could do it I replied think how if

Everyone just picked up one

There’d be no piles no filthy street

A little bit more like heaven I added

But by then they were back to talking

Probably bored of my preaching

And fearful I wouldn’t move on

Maybe I planted a seed we’ll see later

If their walk is cleaner next time

A neighborhood guy taught me it’s

Well worth the effort for your butt

And your gut even if nobody notices

You won’t see the mess on your way back

Which is really not true 

You’ll see what you missed

But hey it’s a hell of a lot better than it was

Wasn’t that your goal Fulton’s a busy

Main street to Parma and doubly so now

They’re repaving twenty-fifth which

Was almost impassable with the traffic

For the market and all the yuppies’ Beamers

Coopers Rovers and the crowded parking

For trendy restaurants filled 

With great looking chicks Fulton’s got 

Three nice restaurants serving al fresco

On good days napkins blowaways

I understand but how does the stuff

From Wendy’s on Lorain make it 

To my house to lodge in my bushes

I’d love to see the atmospheric maps

Of those winds overnight northerly

Westerly easterly last oh hell we know how

The window of some rusted four door

Pontiac or brand new black Buick sedan passing

Rolls down and the vagaries of the breezes

Inside the car rips the trash from the hands

Of their stoned consumers come 

Gently to rest in my chain-link 

Drawn to me as if by a garbage magnet 

So like dogs inevitably find the one

In a crowd who can’t stand dogs at all 

And hump their leg

c. J.S.Manista, 2015