Never finished high school.
Has a wife and an internet girlfriend in Minnesota.
He has too many kids and not enough time to sort it all out after a long day
of garbage sorting.
He looks like 1974 and seems a bit slow.
We discuss the weather and chat about the freaks always on the street
at 3:00 AM.
He is kind of one of them but affable and funny.
He also has a job.
He talks to me while waiting for the truck to pick him up.
We stand smoking and freezing in the pre-dawn chill.
I now know more than I ever thought I would about trash.
I find myself mulling over what I throw away later when I am home.
My buddy the garbage man rides on the end of his truck rain or shine.
He no longer smells the refuse.
He tells me about the treasures often buried in the debris.
He recognizes a fellow scavenger.
by Kevin M. Hibshman