Years ago, I lived next door to a grocery store of a large chain. The back yard where I lived was next to the alley where the store's trash bins were, and there was only a low wall between.
The landlord was a friend, and the weather often balmy, and we used to sit in the back yard and observe this low end sort of democracy in action (or maybe democracy after the Republicans get through with it), as the store staff would throw out food, and the locals wait for it, like so many hungry dogs.
We were poor too, and of course had an edge - we could keep an eye on what was happening, and pounce on the stray unscheduled delivery. It made me feel positively elitist.
It was amazing to see both what was thrown out, and what sort of people involved themselves with this little ecosystem. Eventually my friend and I were inspired to write haiku about the whole thing. Here are some of them.
Early, vegetables
Broken, dented, disheveled
Soon, fading flowers.
He is tall, she short
From inside, she passes him
Lower fruit strata.
Rumbling, squealing doors
Harbingers of hopefulness
Make our ears perk up.
There are protocols
At dumpster intersections
It’s first come, first served.
Baseball cap lady
Ubiquitous, obnoxious
Hardened retiree.
Often, twelve roses
Sometimes, several dozen
Once, even hundreds.
One day the meat truck
Came to get the viscera
They left a shrimp trail.
Steel hooks are useful
A clever one, well hidden
Serves for so many.
SUV’s arrive
Inside, folks with picking tools
No one is immune.
His cigarette hangs
From his left hand, while reaching
Chicken on the right.
Every day he comes
Coughing and bellowing comes
To get his chicken.
Cats festoon the wall
Watch with curiosity
Waiting for handouts.
Looking late for meat
He rages, clatters, berserk
He lights the dumpster.
He lit the matches
He dropped them in the dumpster
Howling in the night.
A pyre of flame shot
From the top of the dumpster
The police came soon.
The cop car wailing
A three a.m. hot pursuit
Under my window.
Today, signs went up
"Go away, diggers," they said
But soon, they were gone.
Baseball cap woman
Calls herself a trashdigger
Yelling at no one.
Box of little birds
Discarded doves, late of signs
No children allowed.
Dead cat, in a box
Plastic-wrapped, to be buried
In a kind of sea.
This week, a carton
Of orchids, in water slips
Prom disappointments.
Bees get lost in bags
Emerging, sticky, humbled
Flee to my garden.
I trashpick scraps of
Produce for my compost pile
What must people think?
Broken-toothed, he gapes
When I say "Hello" to him
And tell him my name.
Slumped over, he waits
One more rock falls from the wall
The chicken’s way late.
Peppermint ice cream
Barely melting, just left there
How mysterious.