culture · poetry

Recycling

The first comes before dusk
as children settle in for sleep
and dishwashers cycles engage

Clink, clink, clink –
bottles rattling –
it’s garbage night.

Black bandana covering hair,
he sports a neatly trimmed beard
and red fleece jacket – appearance

not out-of-place in the upscale
neighbourhood, only his wheels –
blue cart, brimming with bags

one dog perched on the basket,
another settled below – he collects
returnables from blue bins – recycling.

Chatters as he goes, offers a “do you mind?”
to homeowners puttering on front lawns,
nods to passersby, dogs silently watching.

Then later, as windows darken behind
drawn curtains, and the noise of traffic
fades to a minimum, comes another

Clink, clink, clink –
bottle rattling –
it’s garbage night.

Humour · poetry

Garbage Night

Don’t take out the garbage
during a black out – alligators
prowl in blackened streets,
lurk curbside waiting
for the unsuspecting –
I’ve seen them,
chasing the pedestrian,
my screams ineffective;
witnessed the brave
returning from the night
disheveled and shaken
Was it the alligator? I ask
with all the compassion
of I-told-you-so.
No, comes the reply,
it’s the tiger
out back.
So much danger
in the dark, please
wait till the lights
come on before
dealing with trash.

(Inspired by a dream and dedicated to my husband who never takes out the garbage the night before pick up.)

Photo from Trip Advisor