It was a perfectly good all-purpose metal trash can. Shouldn't of been haphazardly discarded for the want of a new one. Evidently this was my reasoning at the time as I saved it from oblivion and tossed it in the back of my pick-up truck never knowing the dire ramifications this action would entail.
Tossed in the back of the truck, rattling around, while Jr. Boy and me mosied down some back road. When our world changed.
As Jr boy, hiding in the trash can, as the sky fell in firey chunks of read hot magma burning and incinerating everything. Flames leaping as any thing flamatory flamed, anything burnable burned. Soon digging holes for water, eating bugs for food But surviving.
For want of a trash can.
You carry on Jr boy. Your daddy loves you. The world needs you.
Well this isn't very shocking! What's going on here? I'm Willoughby, the world's first shock poet. This beautiful, wonderful, and touching story could ruin my bad reputation...Rewrite!...Eliot, take this down..somethings wrong...rewrite.... Nooo.....I'm melting....melting....no...Eliot, before I melt away...and die...promise me..you'll get rid of the thumbs down...you will...you heard it everyone.... Eliot promised to get rid of the thumbs... down......melt....nooo....! Hey everyone, this is Creepy Ray Ray. I'm not sure if Willoughby melted away or snuck out the back door. This may mean we may never get to read his, "My Wife is a Sheep" poem. I would stay tuned, or follow to be on the safe side.
P.S. Do you ever pick your scabs, let them heal, pick them again, let them heal over and over again? Creepy Ray Ray out !