Junkyard Jim

for Lew Toll


Almost inert-
The Raleigh pipe that smokes itself
by the beat quonset shed,
mid-junkyard.
Mr Ruddy in denim overalls
sizes up our randy selection
of rake tines, rusted pulleys, flywheels
and bent occult shapes
already sifting back to earth-
our 'found objects', our makeshift Art-
Pulls out his roll of worn bills
to make change,
shaking his head,
pronounces 'five dollars...'