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Monday, August 15, 2011

Dustmen

DUSTMEN
A Poem about time
by
Harris Tobias

            DUSTMEN
    Time’s wagon clatters down the dusty road
    The rusty matter of my life make up its load
    Haul it away, the dustmen sing
    A song for all my hours wasted
    A lament for all my days long spent
    The dustmen sling the dented days aboard
    The wagon sways its springs tormented
    It wends its plodding way abroad
    Its contents hauled to that abode
    Where eroded time lies fermented
    Up ended, worthless and unknown
    Like sand, like stone
    How profligate we are with time
    We fling our hours out of hand
    As if we had infinity to spend
    As if our days would never end
 
    How worn the well used pieces are
    The empty husks of hours
    Sucked of joy like oysters
    Shucked and let decay
    Like so much trash in heaps they lay
    The dustmen smile and cart the shells away
    Is there nothing I can keep I ask
    Keep the present
    The present is the pearl, they say

           
              Dustmen—As a song

    Time’s wagon clatters down the road
    The dusty road
    The rusty matter of my life make up its load
    Make up its load
   
    Haul it away, the dustmen sing
    A song for all my hours wasted
    A lament for all my days long spent
    The time left untasted
   
    The dustmen sling the dented days aboard
    The wagon sways its springs tormented
    It wends its plodding way abroad
    Its contents hauled to that abode
    Where time lies fermented
   
    Up ended, worthless and unknown
    Like sand, like stone
    How profligate we are with time
    We fling our hours out of hand
    As if we had infinity to spend
    As if our days would never end
   
    Time’s wagon clatters down the dusty road
    The dusty road
    The rusty matter of my life make up its load
    Make up its load
   
   
    How worn the well used pieces are
    The empty husks of days
    Sucked of joy like oysters
    Shucked and let decay
   
    Like so much trash in heaps they lay
    The dustmen smile and cart the shells away
    “Is there nothing I can keep?”
    Keep the present, they reply
    The present is the pearl, they say
   
    Time’s wagon clatters down the road
    The dusty road
    The rusty matter of my life make up its load
    Make up its load