Beautiful cans

Beautiful cans

They can be crushed by hands but they sparkle
They are magical, it's magic when it's on my hands
I enjoy the quality of their softness
As far as my eyes can see, I look deep into the thickness of the bush just to have one can picked by me
My adrenalin runs high and feel the elevation as I quickly pick it up

It's magical when I pick a can on the sides of pavements and wherever I expect a can because that's what life is at that moment
It's magic to see a can inside a bin because one shows too many left by those in the bin who enjoyed drinking ciders

It's magical when I pick up a can knowing that my plastic bag will be full of them I know the scrapyard will pay me R22 something when it's full

It's magical knowing that there are spots where I expect at least two cans or one to pick up and put inside my plastic bag at home knowing that soon I will have a black waste plastic  bag full of cans, even though it's winter but cans come by when I least expect them

It's beautiful cans with their shinning outer surafce and inner surface which urges me on to keep on picking up cans 'cause I know that R10.00 quenches my thirst in the morning when I buy that Reboost energy drink and get a freebie of two fatcakes from the owner of the tuckshop-container who also sells beautiful pies