Trash Picking
One runs into interesting characters at night.
Trash Picking
He squats in white underwear
middle of the alley, Gollum-like,
stacking cardboard and plastic,
leaving behind Styrofoam and glass,
half-naked and aglow in orange,
sorting perishables, finding shoes
perfectly cromulent. I’ve developed a bad habit
lately, I imagine if I had their life,
the street officer, the sidewalk chess player,
the wok-bellied stroller of these august alleys,
the dumpster diver—I plop down
cross-legged and sift through their experiences,
stacking supposition and grudges,
leaving behind idioms and histories,
sorting daydreams from remembered loves,
and more precious, imagination,
fabrication, artifice.
You really captured something here very precious! Sifting through the substances we find something cromulent, and thank you for introducing me to this word. This poem is daring and hopeful!