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It's not windy,
it is late.

All good people
put their trash
to the curb.

In the morning
the wind picks up.

Suddenly there are
bags of garbage
everywhere.

Shreds of plastic and
the like is all over
the neighbourhood.

Some stray cats and
a few raccoons
are breathing easy
and feeling full..

You wake and
the garbageman
has come and gone.

© 2014
Waverly  Jul 2018
Ghosts.
Waverly Jul 2018
there are two dimensions
to this living.
One is the surface,
the ethereal,
the light to the dark.
The shadow to the skin:
The depth of pigment.
But then, there is the deeper sin
the battering within.
The judgment of blackness
based on skin.
It has hounded us,
through our history,
from House to field.
from basketball court
to court house.
From boardroom
to dorm room
to class room
to living room.
Granny used to say,
ooh girl you've got good hair.
Nice and wavy,
like your grandpappy's.
Used to say,
see you're the pretty one.
Running her fingertips
along our cheeks,
mired in awe
of our caramel complexion.
while like tar,
it stuck to the minds
of our classmates,
cohorts,
coworkers.
With jealousy
they said light-skinned,
not black enough,
not us enough.
not us enough.
when one day in class,
the teacher had asked,
"what do mommy and daddy do?"
Janitor.
Works for the state.
Garbageman.
we piped up proudly,
"my mommy and daddy have college degrees,
one creates houses
the other works in network security"
all the while,
our classmates had laughed,
made fun of us,
"so, that's why you don't talk black"
Two smart ******,
bred a smart *****.
And so the story of us,
had morphed
from the days of Angela Davis,
to this new form of self-hatred.
the valley between us
suffered a cataclysm
and became a canyon.
Continued to grow,
our skin a stain,
and as actors we had to train,
mellowing our dialect
just to make it seem as if we had intellect,
cause we all know a succesful black man,
has two distinct voices,
and not through his own choices,
it is bred from necessity.
can't sit in front of white man
and talk like pickaninny.
got so comfortable out of our own skin,
that we felt we were the ones
digging out the edges of the canyon.
So far thrown from blackness
that maybe this is how they separate us,
make us hate ourselves
and love they wealth.
make us hate our hair
and love they locks.
Cause like superheroes
we switch from day out
to day in.
Being dark, light or caramel complexioned
we stay hounded by
how close we get to whitening.
Phil Smith  Dec 2014
Trash Day
Phil Smith Dec 2014
I have waltzed
with sunset ease
into your broken dressers.

I have juggled
like schoolyard doctrines
with guts forgotten.

For every shepherd, there is a butcher.
For every artist, there is a garbageman.
Devon Brock Aug 2019
The cook and the teacher,
paid low,
trusted
to feed the body,
feed the mind,
clean,
left unfed and fettered
to the edge of a dime.
Lower down
the chain of demand,
two rungs below
the garbageman
that swiftly whisks
our waste away.

The CNA, the DNA
of the elderly
trash-heap industry,
scraping by,
just scraping by,
but trusted,
regulated,
called to task
for a stain,
three rungs below
the garbageman
that swiftly whisks
our waste away.

Minimum wage
daycare slave,
entrusted
with the safety
and well-being
of children,
four rungs below
the garbageman
that swiftly whisks
our waste away.
Victoria Jennings  Mar 2014
Trash
Its raining
And I imagine
Just myself
Laying on the curb
With the rest of the trash
Waiting for
At least the garbageman
To try to pick me all up
And even though he tries
He leaves behind a few pieces
Like my sanity and strength
And I falter into weakness
For I am trash
Withering away
And soon
I shall be one with the Earth.
What if cheerleaders rant an raved when the garbageman emptied
a trash can
What if the marching band burst into song as the septic tank truck
was backing in
How about the paparazzi following the mailman
A live TV shot of the roofing foreman being interviewed by ABC , CBS or CNN* ...
Copyright December 28 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Lawrence Hall Oct 2018
We would

Ask a receptionist for her autograph
Gather in thousands in awe of linemen
Practice the carpenter’s hammer at home
Invite a mechanic to the White House

We would

Order as a keepsake a plumber’s last pipe
Post pictures of teachers writing lesson plans
Make recordings of a wise plowman’s words
Publish biographies of waitresses

We would

Envy the garbageman aboard his yacht
And the workers’ lifestyle that we know not
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
To the guitarist perusing the fretboard in boring , endless combinations , my ninety dollar ticket for a migraine headache in the back row.. For the artist throwing paint on canvas and decreeing this art I offer my head scratching amusement . To the 'gifted hands of the physician' whirling poor people into the river of bankruptcy I've nothing but scorn ...
To the Garbageman and the 'Street Sweeper' my lifelong admiration ...
For the 'Laborer' and 'Ditch Digger' my endearing praise , 'twould be an honor to have a 'Janitor' occupy the crown of my dinner table on any day !
Copyright March 12 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

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