Ever since I can remember,
I've been digging, digging deeper,
With the sun between the buildings
And the cats and the street sweeper.
I'm a poet
And a brother,
But in the garbage, I'm a reaper.
The city sows its rancid seeds,
The things it deems its trash;
I rescue them from landfill weeds
And harvest some for cash.
Now, I have made it all these years
With dignity intact,
But I cannot calm your fears;
I can't deny the fact:
I'm a dumpster diver, dredging up
The junk you tossed aside,
And in your refuse, I see all—
In me you will confide.
Here's a comprehensive list
Of what I found today,
The things that hold the interest
Of eyes that strip away:
1. A basketball
that met its end on concrete city courts
—The jury sentenced it to death by hoodlums' flashing blade—
They left it on the sidewalk there to be a warning sign
To kids who thought they would be safe in pickup games they played.
2. A burger,
half-uneaten, wrapped in paper, soaked in sauce,
Grown cold and then discarded nonchalantly, no great loss.
I take a bite.
Taste buds excite.
Another bite.
It feels just right.
3. A television,
shattered screen
and broken cathode tubes
—Crash—
thrown out the window
(barely missed his ducking head),
A sudden, silent clarion of those who'll soon unwed.
4. A crucifix
torn from the chain on which it once was hung,
From the chest of someone faithful to the cracking pavement bare,
It rusted with the fire escape beneath its bottom rung,
Excommunicated like the girl who lost her faith out there.
5. A Phillips head screwdriver,
handle cracked from base to hilt,
Wielded once by worthy craftsmen who were proud of what they built.
The tip reflects the glinting light of slowly dawning sun,
And as I reach to grab it, I can tell it's come undone.
Useless.
6. A textbook
on statistics from a sleepy high school class
Where students vote no confidence in what the teacher tells—
With doodles in the margins, a young man born not to pass
Threw it out the window after end-of-school-day bells.
7. A child,
maybe two months old, with dark, reflecting eyes,
Swaddled in a newspaper and bathed in city dregs—
His grim, emaciated frame, it takes me by surprise;
I cradle him so gently, like a carton full of eggs.
He burps a little, looks at me, and then begins to cry,
And I, uncertain, pull him close and wonder what to do.
I tell him as I turn my gaze upon the blushing sky,
"This city's done its worst to me, but still there's hope for you."
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