To the editor:
The sun is setting, and the clouds are gathering here.
A storm is brewing, and the warnings are near.
So here I sit with the greatest of fear
Waiting for those dreaded human cockroaches to appear.
I baited my yard and filled it with junk
So bulking and heavy to move it requires a hunk.
Time was short, and dusk was upon me.
Oh, when would they come and set the knowledge free?
Were they all myths, or what were they like?
Questions of concern that will undo any fright.
At first it became quiet, and then a car stopped.
It was an old man with his hair just a bit cropped.
"I know it's late and hardly can we see.
My children can use that old bike. It won't be for me."
We loaded that old bike on the roof of his car
And tied it securely, for he wasn't traveling that far.
My neighbors cam one by one and sometimes by two
Looking for something that was old and not new.
My pile of junk dwindled by dawn's early light.
Less for the city to pick up, and pretty wasn't the sight.
Then two joggers stopped and straightened what was left.
Random acts of kindness, I bet.
So as for the human cockroaches that I never did see
Died as a myth as my neighbors recycled so very happily.
IRVIN HOLDERBAUGH
Jackson
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