On Tuesday and Friday mornings,
the pickings are good.
Heaped curbside in obscene
sculptures, an ode to our waste,
lay one woman’s trash…and
your treasure.
Amid the refuge and
rubbish
are Glad and Hefty reminders,
glories and sins of our
past.
Benches, barstools and
beds.
Doors, dressers and
doghouses
Windows, washers and wicker.
Having spent time at the
curb myself,
sightseeing, seeking and
searching
I understand your
inclination to
poke and prod, hopeful in
your quest to find
exactly what you need,
the one thing which will
make you happy.
We have thrilled in our
respective hunts.
Telling and retelling
tales of our
quarry and conquests,
each coveting that which
the other possesses.
I have been there myself,
seeing at first glance
glistening and golden
gifts from those yet unknown.
Finding, upon closer
inspection,
that all that glitters is
not gold.
Some is simply trash and
best left alone.
Curiously,
I find myself among that
which you have
discarded and disregarded.
Taking up residence at
your curbside I sit and wait
for the next treasure
hunter to
catch my eye, find my
worth
and take me home.
~ Mk Michaels, 2008
