I detest a walk on trash days,
But it's good for me.
The other days I can tell myself
How utopic and beautiful it is here.
Trash day smells.
How many baskets gathered up,
And all of it has gone to waste?

And when I get back to my home,
I see the truck has come for mine,
And so I pull my cans back up
To where they go.
The flies over there have grown so fat,
They can only hover one or two inches
Above the ground.
Soon I'll have to call them "walks,"
For they will be too gross to fly.

We can all delude ourselves,
Most of our lives,
Six days at a time,
But on the seventh day,
We know the truth.
Trash day revelation--
The only holy ones,
Who deal with reality
Everyday,
Are trashmen and hotel maids.

-jenn