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08/12/08 - (1)
Garbageman What was there to say? Quite simply, the day just got away from him; In fact, he couldn't even remember awakening. Suddenly, Sunday night, late, became early Tuesday, Which, by Friday afternoon, he decided, Hadn't been all that bad of a lapse. Indeed, having Monday fall off his radar completely Had saved him tons of shit, literally and litterally. Truth was, he abhorred the first day of the workweek, Since getting going, having to resume the drudgery Of firing up his ramshackle garbage truck, Resigning his mind to dealing with flies, stink, rats, After two days of sleeping in, sleeping off a bender, Was always an insult to his system, Too eye-opening for his hungover brains to overcome. And if there was any downside to his AWOL, Other than his pissing away eight hours of piss-poor profit, It was just the not knowing that bugged him, That nagging wondering about what could have happened To erase Monday from his slate, Leaving, in its vapors, a hole bigger than the local landfill, Where he dumped his odorous loads of people-waste. Saturday and Sunday came sooner than usual. He did and he didn't know why. The obvious was obvious enough, but as for the what, The what that had Houdinied last Monday, He hadn't a clue; it was a fart in Pandora's whirlwind. When the truly unexpected happened again — The disappearance of another fugitive Monday, Following two glorious nights of rip-roaring snockery — He decided something or someone was out to get him, Had it in for him. Another profit-robbed shift hurt, Especially with four-plus-buck diesel eating his truck's lunch. "What the fuck? What the fuck?" was Tuesday's mantra. And for the next year, until he went bankrupt, Had to sell his front loader, his double-mortgaged double-wide, Mondays simply eluded him, refused to wake him, As they piled diapers, meat renderings, peels, condoms, pits Into the landfill of his wasting years.
08/12/08 - (1)
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