Chief egalitarian garbage taster i.e. “white trash”

As Halloween costume,

one year during early grade school,

my father got brilliant idea

for sole son dressed

uniquely rubbish qua

putrid offal getup.

 

Missus Shaner (talon clawed,

shriveled relic archaeopteryx dinosaur,

who taught fifth grade) gave

me first prize, and subsequently

felt so convinced about authenticity

 

of this kid being “white

trash”, she notified another

classmate dressed as janitor

to dispense me in school dumpster.

 

The receptacle sanitation

disposal company bequeathed

altruistic dumpster vis a vis

to dive amidst maggoty muck

 

(in addition to real rubbish

in dumpster) nearest landfill

loaded with all kinds

of junk, viz food scraps,

recyclables, and soiled diapers.

 

Over short span of time,

detritus commingled into

one brew of despicable,

fly haven, jiggling lifelike,

nursing putrescence re: teeming

 

vibrantly, mark kid lee,

noisomely... with yum zuck

for swamp thing, I seemed

metamorphosing into

by cruel hoax.

 

Nothing prepared, neither sickened

nor violated senses of smell,

sight, taste, and touch to

maximum factor tolerated

of each odious blast, each

 

pestilential assault issued an

appalling refrain sans:

The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than

the Driver of the Screw

and Whipping Cords Will

 

Serve You More than Ropes

Will Ever Do, before mine

myopic bespectacled eyes

(smarting from constant comet

drubbing irritants (which

 

glasses kiddie bifocals caked

with smudge good as naught),

stayed shut while inundation

of corrosive gaseous shaped

oxbow wreath wisps.

 

Liberty vis a vis in sight envisioned

visibly threatened offshoots

of tendril spikes; snaking sneakily,

sordidly slithering silently,

yet straightaway as a scene from

some spooky sideshow,

or “haunted house”.

 

This ugly slop

splashed upon mine formerly

pristine academic uniform

appeared near identical to

l grubby, crabby, arguably

 

meanest lunch lady

served i.e. via lob stirring)

splattered sundry speckles

sundry detritus found me

writhing with nausea.

 

Thee nasty muck and mire found

formerly introverted boy

transformed into sponge bobbing

squarely panting creature

 

from the black lagoon, whose

sea legs set sought semi-

solid stated surface to stand

upright amidst variegated

flotsam and jetsam.

 

Dishabille appearance acquired

fresh splattered coat of rancid

slimy ham and bacon

covered arms (among other

pieces of moldy clothes,

 

food and iconic library oddment

ricocheting unpredictably

as trash truck violently

shook up and down all

night long en route on

 

highway to hell to Moyer’s

Dump, which toxic brew

would be declared Superfund

Site and shuttered

in near future.

 

Once Robert

Hall wardrobe affixed with

capital one fancy feast of

grateful dead roadkill,

kickstarter from some automotive

 

contraption, and plenti of

fish heads (with square

pants trimmed with

lovely bones), I felt

indistinguishable from regular

riffraff riding shotgun.

 

When trucker parked and stopped

awful bin laden made ready to

empty contents within mountain

of olfactory noxious material.

 

A thought occurred, now might be

golden, (or rather gook steeped)

opportunity to extricate

myself from morass of

mish mashed, linkedin kind

dulled juggernaut, icky

first class bric a brac.