150 The Meadow Salvagers Jeremiah Zuniga My Father used to take my brothers and me hiking Along the banks of the Truckee river to search Among the willows and reeds for precious aluminum. Each of us equipped with a big black Glad Bag that soon rattled and clanked, filled With sticky, crushed cylinders of rainbow metal. Occasionally, we would stumble into camps of transient People, and they were pleased to watch four rugged Children foraging for scrap metal among their tents Blankets, and campfires. They joked with my dad And he laughed with them, so we did not fear The people who slept on the ground clutching brown paper bags. Too young to feel ashamed of ourselves For us it was like hunting for eggs on Easter— A race to see who would fill their bag first. When the task was finished, dad would turn us loose To float down the river to my Auntie’s house While he redeemed the trash for money. Made invincible by bright orange lifejackets Four brothers shrieked and laughed and rushed Along with the powerful current, the boiling rapids Swirling with foam and debris, slick stones Offered no traction to cheap shoes as the water Brought us all back to where we began.
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