"Bottles and Cans" ( a poem of sorts )

Every day I hear the sound
Clank Clank Clank
The bottles crashing against each other in a sea
of more bottles and cans.
Clank Clank Clank
The sound repeats itself over and over
like church bells.
It is a sad sound. It is the sound of the poor
cashing in their wages to the recycling man.
The sound never ends. Men and women of all ages line up
and stomp on the cans.
The weary step on the cans with a desperation
as though the cans represent lost dreams.
The lines are long with the masses-
middle aged women with unbrushed hair,
short,Mexican men with baseball caps,
skinny,white dudes with tattoos and thick moustaches.
One kid holds her mother's hand as mom waits in line.
a forty-something,white lady dashes from her truck
holding a bag of potential cash and
her teen daughter holds a bag also. She looks embarassed. She's dressed hip
and cool but it's hard to be hip in this environment.
They head towards the line,
joining in on the symphony.