Can Man

While the sun yet rests,

He is out,

Mining for gold within the land of the abandoned and discarded

 

The treasure he seeks is not buried; it lies in plain sight

Bypassed unnoticed by schoolchildren and bus riders,

Who’d readily halt for a nickel, dime or quarter,

But eagerly kick the shimmering ruby, amethyst and emerald-colored metals out of their paths,

 

Cans deemed worthless

as soon as the last drop is sipped

Tossed aside

Once their alleged purpose,

as vessels of liquid sugar,

has been fulfilled.

 

 

Only he knows their real worth

And sees their value lies

Beyond the mere promise of refreshment

 

Slung over his shoulder,

In a clear trashbag–His makeshift treasure chest–

Lie the jewels,

Recovered from  gutters, curbs, sidewalks and bushes

Stacked one on top of the other,

His beloved cans—

His temporary salvation.