paper route

the peculiar compassion we were meant to feel for
the tenement residents on the other end of the neighborhood.
they rented, we owned. yet it was in their dumpsters dad
used to unload the oversized items of trash the municipal
authorities refused to remove. at the age of eight
i was initiated into the underground tunnels that
for them connected washing machine to washing machine
trash can to trash can. my first taste of
terror was the endless walk between fire doors
when both hallway lights happened to be burned out
and the winter days were dark long before the 6 o'clock
deadline. the inhabitants of those pukegreen carpets and
water stained walls - for a while i was dependent on their
generosity. in three and a half years i had lost half the clientele
before shamefacedly relinquishing the route to a younger,
more industrious neighbor. mr. johnson
and his twenty dollar christmas tips. old mrs. carbone
and the rotweiler she herself had to beat back with a
louisville slugger. mrs. galupo, judicious regional
distributor with a luxurious cadillac country squire
for the merciless bundles - who can tell me in what
unearthly halfway house they now dwell?

copyright 2005 Chris Michalski
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