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one mans trash
By Willie Nemeth

I am a Scavenger.
I search unknown amidst the refuse of the capital city.
I am as a chameleon indistinguishable from my surroundings for I am trash.

At times I lay upon the smoldering mound praying for the vultures to eat me.
I am passed over for more appetizing fare rotten chicken or molded beans.

I was born here.
The son of a girl raped by her father.
I will never be of value in high society.

I wait for trucks laden with garbage from golden arches.
My happy meal has no toy.
Hazardous waste from the hospital!
Perhaps something to ease my pain, a needle for my mother... she is not well.
I long for a special delivery from a birthday party complete with tattered gift wrap,
beer cans to sell, and stale cake.
When it arrives, I will crawl into the cavity of the discarded piñata in search of sweets.
I will lie inside waiting for the bull dozer to grind me into the mire like other infants I have known.
A merciful end to a future without hope.

I recall a missionary who reached out and hugged my filthy frame.
He spoke of Gods love, peace, and joy.
He preached that Christ died on the cross once for all.
He said that I am valuable in the Lords eyes.
As I listened to him speak, somewhere deep within me a seed was sown.
I can feel it growing still.
When I visit the mission I am able cast off my oppressive life if only for an hour or two.

It is hard living in this hell day after day.
I know one thing for certain.
One mans trash is another mans treasure.

Copyright © Willie Nemeth.

(The poem is available to general media, publications and webmasters under condition that the author's name and the link to will be provided under the poem.)


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