Tuesday, December 29, 2015


                    My wife’s a hunter-gather it seems,
                    And stuff left by the curb-side for the trash
                    That oughtn’t be crunched up to smithereens
                    And then incinerated to mere ash
                    It is her mission to save from such fate,
                    To salvage and recycle what’s still good,
                    Returning home, car laden, and elate
                    With all these treasures from the neighborhood.

                    The only part that needs to be refined
                    Is what to do with stuff we do not want
                    And finding someone else happily inclined
                    These places of such cast-off stuff to haunt,
                         For it’s too terrible to contemplate
                         A trash compactor as its destined fate.