Golden Gate Recology

Beep beep beeping backing-up garbage
slash recycling truck spoiling the morning’s
wan stillness, ferrying the picked bones
of domesticated turkeys, cathode ray
tubes now unwatchably fat, the faulty
words of husbands never understanding
their wives and naturally (in the special
groaning compartment) the lies of wives
chronically misunderstood. Also: shredded
and unshredded paper, Naked smoothie
containers, drained Zin bottles no longer hinting
at jammy structured moonlight. Might there be
a heart in there? Not needed anymore, first
laid in the blue bin at the curb last night,
now winched and loaded by the chain-
smoking ash-faced civil servant in the Recology
jumpsuit gunning his hydraulics to shake out
the last of the sticky upsidedown contents
into his whining, wheeled cave. He’s thinking
about Tiffany @ Centerfolds last night (yum) plus
the frightening cost of his daughter’s braces. Say
I commandeer his vehicle, haul ass to Texas
like a Lamborghini in heat, bleating pump packed
in ice laying in a Playmate cooler (as in yesteryear),
further insulated by a dense forest floor of pine
needles, Pampers, spoiled milk, torn hose and torn
retirement account statements. At the last bridge bats
who love the bridge turn aircraft-carrier escort, fly
out of the river’s dark mouth and point their “V”
in the direction of the hospital. Okay, buddy, you
try transporting a metaphor from San Francisco
to Austin! No job for sissies, Kerouac or Congress-
men packing Constitutions. Here, pal, here’s
your heart!!! The doctors are scrubbing at the line
of scrimmage, surveying the defense—stunts, blitz
packages, red dogs, threats from the edge. Your shiny
new wife’s got the new-wife smell but will last
forever and forever and forever.

on the occasion of a benefit to raise money for Dean Young’s heart transplant, June 23, 2011, University of California, Berkeley