I revisiting my dream city version of Saint Paul, and in my dream I was at a meeting full of people who were angry about garbage. I was sitting in a chair in the midst of them, trying valiantly to convince people around me that organized garbage was a good thing for the city.
"It's about equity," I pleaded with the trash people, "and it reduces wear on our city roads."
It was all for naught. The people were angry, like old men trying to send back soup at a deli.
And when reason and common sense fail, the only thing left is to pray.
In my dream, that's what I did, I put my hands together and said a dreamtime prayer. This is what it was...
The Landlord's Prayer
Our hauler, who art in Saint Paul,
hallowed be our personal relationship,
thy garbage truck come,
my trash be gone,
on street as it is in the alley.
Give us this day our weekly pickup,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those
who put trash in our city-owned bin
(even if it is dog poo).
And lead us not into petitions,
but deliver us from lawsuits.
For thine is the contract,
and the power to collect garbage,
for about five years. Amen.
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