By G. M. Matthews
Editor: Please consider this revised version of my poem. I am certain that any Santa Monican living near an alley will appreciate it.
Alley Prowler The cat comes running, a baby cries, When the green behemoth down the alley flies. Papers ply their way to the ground, And people curse the prodigious sound Of the daily prowling of this ravenous beast As it gorges itself on its rubbish feast. Hydraulics and brakes play a cruel melody, Disturbing the peace, but we surely agree By devouring for us our piles of waste This public hero has our alleys graced.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on June 18, 2008. Read the original PDF.