Bottle Collector Guy

Digs through the

Trash

In front of God and

Everyone

We pretend not to notice as he

Gropes and paws

Bags and

Wrappers

Could he be any less discreet?

He doesn't appear to

Care

His reward is the

Cash

For his salvage

Ours is the useless scraps of

Superiority

That Record

All I ever seem to recall is

How it felt

Colors languish

Music embellished by a memory that

Dances

Like my own Pinocchio

The pops and

clicks

Of needle on vinyl are

Buried

With the imperfections of the

Day