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