I open the cartons and packets
Thrown away carelessly by them
And invariably come up with stuff
That can earn me a few bucks
For which my mother keeps waiting
Without which, she has no doubt,
The whole family will die of hunger.
It’s fun to play around in the dump
And enter a place, shunned by all
To separate the useful from the useless
And sell the useful for some coins.
Police now says, “don’t touch the unclaimed”
Mother says, “don’t stop working”
In one case, death is only probable
In the other, it is a certainty.
What is your advice to me, sir ?
Should I stop going to the dump ?