by Michael Theroux
The purloined grocery cart was parked on the gravel by the roadside, holding all the precious scraps the ragman had gathered. Curious children, finding the owner gone for the moment, close in to poke at the plastic bulges tied to the outside, his early morning gleanings. These bits bound for conversion to pocket change would yield six dimes, perhaps a dollar, enough to cover morning coffee and coffin-nails.
Leading the kids, a waif of maybe ten tugs and teases until one large bag comes open enough for her to peek inside. The man’s cache: carefully crushed aluminum cans. The child recognizes the pure Wealth this poor soul has loosely contained in the black plastic trash bag. Abruptly, she turns away - and with a few quiet words, she leads her posse over to a dense row of shrubbery behind the Quick-Mart.
Her extended umbrella she wields as a makeshift scepter, its chrome tip honed to sharp perfection on the concrete. Glancing about her to catch the eyes of the others with her, she disturbs the dust and rubble under the box-cut junipers, actions which her comrades replicate with their sticks and straightened clothes-hangers. With a deft plunge, she spears and extracts that which she seeks: Aluminum!
Countering the crime of metal resource wastage and dispersion, the first crumpled can is salvaged. The child notes with pleasure that this is not the only aluminum she and her team have recovered this morning. With majestic grace, she and her court walk back to the waiting cart. Her cohort standing ready as she leads by doing, the young queen places her recovered metal jewel inside the beggar’s bag.
Michael Theroux writes from Northern California. Michael is entering the literary field in his seventh decade, seeking publication of two books and around 400 poems and short stories. Some may be found in Ariel Chart, 50WS, City Key, Wild Word, the Lothlorien Poetry Journal, here at Cafe Lit, and elsewhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Remember that we are here to support each other.