Queen of the Town Dump Pilgrims arise from the fog, line up at the gate. Offer up a world of treasure but I always make them wait. Ten dollars per axle, sixty dollars for a ton. They offer up their riches; I admit them one by one. But they can’t lay claim to my heart, or cause my blood to pump. I scorn them though I reign Queen of the town dump. Who is the scavenger boy, the one they call “the pack rat?” For every one the old man brings, the young takes two back…