The Trashcan Man & The Boxcar Child

for Shaun

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.