The Trashcan Man & The Boxcar Child
A black edged, golden gray, tinted with orange dawn
Fills the air with the smell of yellow rain.
The trashcan man and the boxcar child
Embrace the morning with cut-throat smiles
And rise to another day of robbing Peter – and lying to Paul.
And as they search for shelter, their minds race helplessly,
Looking for a reason for the pain and the burden they share
As together they bear the Mark of Cain.
Chalking it all up to a Karmic debt, a cosmic bet, a holy joke.
With no roof – the world’s their dwelling place
. . . but not their home
With no relatives – they have many families
. . . but none their own
With no money – they get drunk
. . . on as much liquor as they can find
While their dark and bloodshot eyes
. . . are filled with bruised wisdom.
A fading blue, ribboned with pink, and dotted with black sky
Falls gently on a cloister of trees which covers the graying grass
Where the boxcar boy and the garbage gent
Lay down their burdens, lay down their heads.
While their spirits wander restlessly
Searching for an emerald dawn
They know will never come.
