The wandering of cans, p.1
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       The Wandering of Cans, p.1

The Wandering of Cans
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  The Wandering of Cans

  by Daniel Hargrove

  Copyright 2017 Daniel Hargrove

  Cover art copyright 2017 Daniel Hargrove

  This book is published for anyone's enjoyment. Authors retain the copyright to their work. Users may read, copy and distribute the work in any medium or format for non-commercial purposes, provided the authors and the journal are appropriately credited. The users are not allowed to remix, transform or build upon the published material.

  01 The Wandering of Cans

  02 On My Way to the Park

  03 The Choices of Hawks

  04 When the Bus Doesn’t Run

  05 A Short Drive Away

  06 The Rhythm of Nine

  07 The Locks of Vision

  08 Losing in Louisiana

  09 Not His Evening

  10 The Dreams of a Hare

  11 The Mazes of Concrete

  The Wandering of Cans

  A bum on the street

  walks from litter can

  to litter can

  collecting beer and soda cans

  which he puts in his grocery cart

  filled with many bags

  it is hard to push

  and he goes miles every evening

  the recycle place

  is quite a distance

  A long beard

  and unkempt, knotted hair

  which hasn't seen a haircut in years

  he is thinking about past loves

  and his years spent

  working for a living and getting by

  with no regrets

  but nobody want a bum

  He is a caring man

  and understands very well

  why when he might

  ask for change from a stranger

  they might simply refuse

  what is confusing to him

  is that when the stars shine at night

  their glare reaches eyes

  that are not tangled in mysteries

  and instead are caught in candies

  On My Way to the Park

  The cops stopped me

  I had seen them by the park

  and went the other way

  and they saw me

  I had walked nine miles that night

  and was unsteady on my feet

  and they thought I was drunk

  I explained that to them

  and they gave me a sobriety test

  I passed the test

  and they laughed about it a bit

  but would not give me a ride

  though I was five miles from home

  I knew that

  So on my way I went

  I was very tired

  but I kept on walking

  I did not sleep on the streets

  that night

  I was not lost

  because I had studied the map

  beforehand, and

  knew my way home

  I did not visit the graveyard that night

  The Choices of Hawks

  The narrative of mankind

  is lost in a tangle of eyes

  and bricks and gas stations

  and the laughter of the saints

  ring around the rosies

  The trick of dreaming the sun

  is not the same

  as the sleep of mules

  with a carrot on a stick

  sometime tomorrow

  The whimsy of song

  is high and keening

  while the locks on the treasures

  are broken and metal

  a time of tired roses

  Blindness is not a lock

  nor ignorance a key

  looking through my tired eyes

  is an old dog of tricks

  that I cannot do myself

  The candle is a spark

  and love is not a fire

  lost in a hopeless wanderer

  sleeping next to the fence

  by a garden of plump tomatoes

  When the Bus Doesn't Run

  The song and dance

  may go on forever

  but stories of the night

  try harder to understand

  the bars, the trysts, the night shift

  nobody sees the mysteries

  that are living in common Joe

  the graffiti on trains

  that couldn't be there

  except under a moon too high

  to reach

  back in history

  the dance of candles

  might have not been known

  to the serf, mostly a slave

  but the candle he knew

  the buses don't run

  past 11 in this town

  and I don't have money for a cab

  so maybe I will walk

  and look at the doors

  on the businesses

  all shuttered and locked

  while somewhere else

  a woman

  is desperately seeking a home

  we will never meet

  but I see her story

  in the long stretches of sidewalks

  that don't know the footsteps

  of the many men and women

  now getting ready for work

  A Short Drive Away

  The hustling and bustling

  city of the daytime

  slows down after midnight

  a more peaceful pain

  than a bulldozer ever knew

  They are tearing down the store

  to build a new mall

  down the street

  there is a 24 hour Walmart

  at 6th and Wilcott

  The Waffle House

  holds many a denizen

  of the the long night

  of trucks and travelers

  and wanderers and hitchhikers

  She ordered pancakes

  but they brought her waffles

  she and the waitress

  laughed about it

  and she asked for maple syrup

  The were out of maple syrup

  but the waffles were ok

  and the tang of the orange juice

  was a little tangier

  and the eggs weren't too runny

  The Rhythm of Nine

  The jazz bars are dancing

  the trumpets and pianos

  and people are high

  on the music

  we are having a good time


  The clarinet makes a run

  up the scale with a a few flats

  and a few sharps

  beautiful music

  for a drink and conversation

  There are photos on the wall

  In walks a blind man

  with his white cane

  and a German shepherd

  his constant companion and friend

  and he grooves on the music

  He has a seat at the table

  and a waiter approaches

  he orders a Shiner

  the piano rolls through the bar

  and the big bass thumps

  The Locks of Vision

  A time of tired eyes

  set on gentlemen

  lost in a sea of yesteryears

  she is looking for a trick

  so she can eat

  and feed her baby

  only one year


  he is a confused

  and confusing man

  only looking for one thing

  and does not own a cat

  his wife does not know

  and he drives around

  looking for one or the other

  She works hard for a living

  and so
does he

  they don't know each other

  and never will

  and they will meet

  in the locked room

  that a key never knew

  The shine of red lights

  knows no angels of course

  but away and in another daytime

  that may wander hopelessly

  they will have what they want

  for the moment

  yet they know may stumble and fall

  Losing in Louisiana

  The dice roll haphazardly

  and the slot machines are all cherries

  a gamble plays roulette

  a girl on each arm

  he will win or he will lose

  and he bets on red

  Dammit, he lost

  over and over

  he is on a roll

  of the wrong variety

  and one of the girls

  excuses herself

  The other still wonders

  is this my night?

  as a chick might do

  in these circumstances

  if no one was the wiser

  The band played on

  the trumpets are hot

  and the sax is cool

  the drummer snares a cymbal

  that rings through the room

  And on and on he goes

  black and red, 39, 27, 4

  still losing, steadily slipping

  chipping away at his chips

  what are the chances of that?

  Not His Evening

  Slipping through the woods

  the archer known as Robin

  is seeking a deer

  Making as little noise as possible

  he slips past the thorns

  not believing, nor thinking

  that he might lose his way

  He must hunt at night

  because he is a wanted man

  they will never find him

  but that they may

  A deer lifts his head

  and twang goes the string

  and he misses the mark

  for once

  Something made him shake

  perhaps the spider

  that landed on his shoulder

  a moment before he shot

  The poor will not go hungry

  but unfortunate for the squirrels

  that he bagged instead

  The Dreams of a Hare

  The birds are sleeping

  and the tangle of branches

  is lost in shadows

  deep in the forest

  a deer is lying

  eyes closed

  and dreaming of her mate

  He is nowhere near right now

  and the trees reach upwards

  and the dance of squirrels

  still reverberates the leaves

  who can not sit still in the breeze

  There is a little house

  rickety and falling down

  that a path leads to

  that I wouldn't take at night

  and the man inside

  is still awake

  The carpet of pine needles

  is felt and not seen

  and the tangle of briars

  is too thick

  this night

  The Mazes of Concrete

  Did you know that traffic never stops?

  And that even at four in the morning

  there is a car every hundred feet or so

  on the freeways and highways

  going somewhere

  passing by the billboards and intersections

  a criss-cross of crazy mysteries

  Did you know

  that each car and truck

  has its own destination

  and they will get there

  almost all of the time

  Did you know

  that the sun rises

  on this immense tangle of pavement

  and everyone gets lost

  sometimes in their lives

  Do you understand

  the kings of industry?

  The why's and wherefores?

  the do's and don'ts?

  The red, yellow, and green?

  I still wonder

  what it all means

  but I will never tell

  what I do know

  about the mean streets of home

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