The super, huffing, in distressed work gloves,
is lugging others’ rubbish to the curb.
His boots, with each pass, scatter rats and doves.
He straightens, lights a roach and, sighing herb,
thanks God for Codeine and his chiropractor.
He sees a garbage truck approach the mound
and trash bags leaping into the compactor.
Hydraulic strain creates a crunching sound
and instant incense.
…………………………………Bad fish, tepid beer,
soiled diapers, sweetened by the reek of pot,
are no gateway to Heaven; they are here
and now:
……………….the ceremony on this spot,
the cleansing revelation that it is,
when he, or anybody, notices.