The Reason That Drunks Dont Recycle

by Jenny Catlin

Humiliation, morning seven am embarrassment.
The clanking of cans
chirping clank, too many bottles compete for space.
Hang dog slide down the fire escape. gotta wait. for the right moment
No neighbors in the hall
smiling maintenance guy. judgment eyes
party in a one room apartment, 105 no ones invited!
Clink clang click…nothing good ever comes in or goes out in a black bag.
Porn and booze and bodies.
Space out the symphony with folded pizza boxes.
Sunday morning functioning, the church bells of shame
But Wednesday, that’s another thing entirely.
Rock paper scissors, who gets the job? Three days a week of pile up and stock up
Gotta go.
Gotta go down all five flights no matter how careful the tip toe
The side step
Still the shame-siren wails in the parking lot
Neighbor’s pit bull head cock. No chicken bones, or other forbidden goodies.
No food for days, just bang-smash the bottles and cans…I can identify the brand
the sound of opening, parlor trick in a parlor-less walk up…but still.
the old woman who swims the dumpster for these lost fortunes
one more guilty verdict for her jackpot.
Think about global warming, the trash island.
Guilty gap mouthed purple plastic is giving me the eye again,
While I feed it’s too full neighbor up with all that broken music.

She paces the isle of the streets

by Jenny Catlin

She paces the isle of the streets
Corner of McArtur Park,
Alvarado Street
She’s always been there
She was before time.
Her broken sunglasses
That once used to be Gucci
Hang one amputated arm over heavy lidded eyes.
She dances
Shaking her round bottom inside a faded house dress
The flowers that she colors in with felt pens
Her things all live around the park bench
She is before time and above future
Even the crack heads leave it alone
Her leather bag spilling out Family Circle cartoons
And bristeless hair brushes
She’s taped three quarters to three fingers
Now castanets accompany her dancing.