Like beggars poring
through a Calcutta landfill
we peruse the Poems’ column
looking for any glint of gold,
any contraption that works,
to carry off in our minds
while treasures buried
amid the sheer volume
go forever unrecognized
and the gulls of sarcasm
wheel screeching overhead,
ready to pounce.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poemhunters-2/
