One Man's Trash

You have to walk down a long hallway
full of bicycles and metal scraps
to get to the pawn shop.
Dank and musty smelling,
it's the kind of place you expect to see
an old fat man smoking a pipe,
but behind the counter there are women
scuttling about like squirrels
trying to cross a road.
Frantic in high noon traffic,
they bicker incessantly
and mock the boy playing the bass
to play them something good this time.
As they continually wipe their noses,
three dark skinned girls shout "Hurray!"
and promise to do dishes for a year,
dancing through the aisles to the chant,
"we're getting a TV, we're getting a TV,"
while a distraught divorcee hocks a ring
to get the landlord out of her tears
and off of her burdened back.
A man eyes up the sight
down the barrel of a rifle
while the women behind the counter
raise their hands in fake surrender
and nervously stammer out,
"Careful now, it might be loaded."