the salty junkman

I was scanning drip's poems recently because he asked for a top 15 list. One of them has the lines:

washed away into
the greedy surf

I liked that image of the greedy surf - instantly I could see the ocean sorting over the crap treasure people drop on the beach like a a kid let loose in a junkyard. I wrote this (kinda average) poem right then and there:

the salty junkman
slides his watery net across the shore
in one swift motion like
a greedy, stretching hand

what have you left for me,
you wanderers and ponderers?
an abandoned bucket, a bandaid,
a beaded bracelet with a broken clasp

he tosses a syringe casually
having no soft vulnerable soles

gathers odd treasures
turns them in his foamy fingers
again and again and
tosses them back onto the shore
when he's bored

I've been trying to write a song lately, too. Not sure where all this creativity is coming from, but I sure hope it lasts. That art course that was cancelled last term might be starting up again in a couple of weeks. I want to do it, but my drawing/painting sucks, so I can use all the creativity I can muster.