hate trash day 'cause i always forget to take it out and when i do remember it is because i hear the truck groan out in front of my house so i run out with the trash in my ironman underroos and say something like, ‘hey bitches, here’s something for your trashmobile’ and i throw it at them and they say ‘we are not trash men we are your neighbors’ and ‘you threw trash into my new chevy impala and robby’s el camino’ and again i take heat for my nudity cause body paint isn’t pajamas and i know that and i can’t paint well ‘cause the roller can’t get into all my corners and i tell them and my soul hurts from bearing the brunt of the jagged aspersions cast my way and the withering not-so-neighborly stares from my neighbors and my flesh gets rough and anserine from the cold and it makes me really mad cause if today isn’t trash day then i missed it again and i have trash coming out of my windows and plastic bags shine in the predawn light atop the parapets bulging happily and falling on top of my dogs, the dead ones stacked on the porch beneath the blue tarp that isn’t itself trash but rather a palliative measure taken in haste to obviate the need to explain the pile of dead dogs on my porch to that sonofabitchin mailman with his imperious gaze and that investigator from the bureau of sanitation that instead of taking my trash he gives me citations made of paper, trash paper no doubt, recycled from those letter of the law goody-four-shoes, the gundersons, who by the way are one dog short, and the citations pile up and i shake my fists at them like i did to that bird who pooped on page thirty-two of that book i was reading at the train station yesterday, that’s trash too now, i suppose, and that’s what i said to that book, i did, and i threw it on the dog pile when i got home and my wife comes out and she rolls her eyes at me and says something pithy like, ‘missed trash day again did we?’ and I says ‘we’ nothing, I missed it ‘cause my pills didn’t wear off until the truck been and left and that was yesterday besides and there is a chicken bone pasted to the base of my skull, doubtless it is trash too, and i'm hotter than a pepper sprout and i sigh ‘cause i