This one is for the trashmen, and all the people who have to pick up before the sun implants itself into the womb of daytime, disposing of useless and discarded things through the harshest nights. This is for those who have to make a living sorting what no one else can handle, deciding what to keep and what to toss into the fire, and for those who have to listen to the great clang and grind of trucks that cannot ever sleep, the midnight shift workers, those who have to wear rubber gloves to keep toxins from seeping in. Oh trashmen, I want you to know I see you (though I try my hardest not to stare, because that would just be rude) and I am sorry I did not do a better job cutting up the boxes or rinsing out the jelly jars before throwing them away. I want to say, I hope they pay you well, though it cannot possibly be enough to make up for the way you have to hang from frozen handles in winter, burning yourselves against your own reflection in summer, taking on the heavy things in life, breaking your back into slivers starting when you are young. And while I’d like to think I see myself as some metaphorical picker up of trash, that every one of us picks up after each other at least once in our lives, even the most selfish among us, it’s nothing compared to the crushing sound of can against can, Styrofoam against itself, and the way some people still look down on you even when you are taller than them when you are on that platform, holding on for dear life, trusting the driver will not bump or jerk or swerve. No, they can never know what you have had to carry just to earn a nod, or a bottle of water from some compassionate soul who knows how bad heat can get in warmer months and sometimes a cool, sweating drink is just the thing you needed. This is for all the trashmen. Thank you. I will try to pay more attention. Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright March 6, 2024, all rights reserved
Posted in Katherine's Coffeehouse
