patron saint of the trash 

i am unsure to whom the city makes
her offerings. i come by the highway's throat
to tend the garbage. i always bring
a plastic shopping bag to harvest. 
it would be a lie if it told you this was
anything but penance. i have made
the offerings too. the soda cup i left on a curb.
a pen i tossed in the parking lot. 
i see my funhouse face in the shine 
of wrappers' silver bellies.
strange fish in a waterless river. the cars
have can openers for eyes. a streetlight
dies & the darkness comes 
like a hole in the window screen. that is when
i am visited for the first & only time
by the patron saint of the trash. he has eyes
made of bottle caps & a black bag over
his head. in the u.s. it is common to not know
who you are worshipping. horror nesting dolls. 
we have mask shops on every corner. i put the news
through a sieve & there is never gold.  
i find finger bones & glass eyes. 
i ask the saint if he is who the people venerate
with their handfuls of firecracker dust
& chew tins. he is also unsure.
he eats as much trash as he can. he says
that one day he woke up & his house
had turned to cellophane. he could not breathe.
he still cannot breathe. he asks why i am
taking his offerings. i explain that they hurt
the land & us because we are part
of the land. he is confused. he asks,
"what land?" the street lamp's glow returns
& it is just me & the bruises on my knees
from when earlier i went to kneel & lost my balance. 
at a stoplight, a men taps his cigarette on the door
of his car. the ash is devoured by the saint.