I slam my truck into park
Swing open the door
And hit the ground before the door is fully open
I let the momentum shut the door for me
Here I stand
At dusk
In the empty, silent sunset
Scrounging the encroaching night to create.
Rending from the darkness, the light of imagination.
It’s Spring Cleanup Day
i.e. Trash Picking Night
Where I gather my next year of possibilities,
Where I can make something new
Out of what was left of last year
I hum an improvised out-of-tune,
“Something old
Something new
Something broken
Something blue
Something to love
Someone to love.”
Gloves are a necessity, leather; cut, but never stab resistant -
You may open a bag
But never leave a bigger mess than you started with.
The broken TV will become the next costume piece.
The old dolls; sad, one-armed, legless action figures will become delightful new monstrosities.
The rusty tools
Will build my next dreams…
And wood, Oh so much wood
Enough to salvage for the hodge podge machine that will sail into the next fantasy
There are enough clothes
To shield an entire shanty town,
Enough blankets to keep every animal warm
In the shelter down the road
These old photos have stories -
People in them
No less important because of their age.
Their wrinkles will now become another fold in my story.
Those cans of old paint
Will color my next experiment
Will add a tint of reality to tangible madness.
I don’t see waste -
I see the opportunities we were never allowed
I see the future in your past.
A chain from then to now,
Out on the front lawn
Bags full of history
Are asking me to read them
Sometimes I’m called the Junk Man,
Hanging onto things that should be forgotten
Buried; left to the past,
But, instead I take it all with me
Within me.
I’ll shine your tarnish into something beautiful
Just so you can see, in your reflection,
That you were beautiful all along
You just needed someone to care.
Having lost everything
I’ll still take anything
And anyone
My people are another I’ve picked,
Discarded by a careless consumer
Who could not see their splendor
The clouds begin to gather
But it has not started to rain yet
And I’m still going.
This road only has one way to go.
The only way there ever is to go.
Just keep moving forward
Never go back
Never stop
Just notice what is there
And take all you can use with you.
These discards, useless to their owners
Decided that they no longer had value
I can make them into anything.
I can find a use for anything
For anyone.
Their trash is a treasure
It still has value
I still have value.
No matter how many times I’ve been thrown away
I’ll still make something out of myself.
Finally, the rain begins to fall
Flowing through the rust holes in my truck
Scrambling to soak my pilfered obsessions
Washing all of our sins
Onto the pavement beneath my feet