My Bottle Picking Man  

I see you immersed in your metal sea of blue,

Searching through the bags of garbage and the hollow boxes

Seeking your treasured bottles and milk cartons.

Suddenly you come up for air and stand  – your knees in a sea of garbage,

Which washes around you flowing backwards

As you shake out a castaway cigarette pack-

One left

You gaze at it with amazement and pleasure,

Like a beachcomber, who has found the perfect seashell.

You raise your hand to me in a friendly “hello”

When I look again , you are gone

But will return on the morning tide.