Classic Poem

Jettison Livingston Jones
Was an artist
In the truest of sense
A garbage collector by trade
He worked dutiful years sorting the refuse
Of wasted lives
Shoveling
Pitching
Compacting
Discarding
The useless, the mundane, the forgotten

And every night he went home
To a warm stove in a tiny cottage
Kissed the woman who stayed by his side
Through many a long, tormented hour
Devoting his last ounce of strength
To the art he so cherished—
A masterpiece of soul, precious gift to the world
More radiant than the portraits of Leonardo
The burgeoning statues of Michaelangelo
Or the staggering stars of Van Gogh—

The careful, steadfast tending
Of three delicate, priceless
Children.


(Previously published in Creative Voice, Feb.2000)