I am going to dig through
dumpsters today; alone or
with a fellow aluminum
cowboy. Our treasure is
cans. Thank God for
redemption. Each can is
worth a nickel, and if
we get enough of these
shiny miracles, we can
get a pint of *****,
our oasis in the desert.

I sift through trash bags
full of cat **** and broken dreams.
I find: losing lottery tickets,
broken costume jewelry, unwanted
books, and a ***** magazine.
I examine the jewelry closely,
hoping for a diamond or real pearls;
some silver or gold, something I
can pawn or sell and turn into
liquor- no such luck.
The whole thing smells like
death, and ****, and a
city dump in July.

Sometimes I think it
would be easier to just
quit drinking, but to do it
abruptly could **** me,
the withdrawal seizures can be deadly.
As the sun begins to set
on Iowa City, the sky
looks like a butterfly melting.
I haul my black garbage bag, full
of cans, over my shoulder
down the railroad tracks, and
across Highway 6.
I stop to ***** behind
a building, then wipe my
face and continue to
the store- to be redeemed.