My Dream

My Dream  
                        
When I grow up, I would like to be
The man who picks up the garbage.

Early in the morning, when everyone's asleep,
I would ride on the back of the garbage truck
And would hop off to pick up the garbage.

I would lift up the bags and throw them,
I would bang on the metal cans.
And some of the sleepers would wake up
And some would mutter and curse.
And the smell of the rotting garbage
Would fill up the morning air.

And then I would call to the driver –
And the truck, it would move with a roar.
I'd hop on that truck.  To the next one,
With that noise and that smell, we would go.

And that is my dream, Mr. Teacher,
The dream that you asked me to write.
I hope that you'll give me a 100.
What you gave me before wasn't fair.

My dream is to pick up the garbage,
To join with the garbage men.
I've heard that they're paid good money,
And the smell washes off when they shower...

My dream is to pick up the garbage,
To be a garbage man.
But I'm told that it it isn't easy.
I really hope I can.

The jobs nowadays aren't many.
My father's unemployed...

I hope that I'll get a paycheck,
And be married too, with kids...

Do you think, if I do all my classwork,
And my homework, every day,
And I pass all those tests you give us,
My dream will come real, one day?

2013 August 16th, Fri.
Brooklyn