Blue skies in August, bright sunlight
Sometimes (not always) stars at night
A waft of warm – I step outside
But where do all my neighbours hide?
I know that some are still around
The lights go on, stray voices sound
And echo down our quiet street
Where full bin bags are placed each week.
Marauding foxes, lean and keen
Come tumbling out at night unseen
Attracted by the pungent smell
Inside our plastic bags from hell -
Which catch the summer sun’s last rays
As they “ripen” hidden from our gaze.
In no time, eager paws let rip
And the street becomes a rubbish tip.
This scattered debris of our lives
Is a midnight feast for prying eyes
Though by the dawning of the day
Night’s revellers have all slunk away.
So each of us in turn is faced
With the remnants of a paper chase
To clear before the bin men pass
While the fox deep in his lair just laughs!
(c) Poet in the woods 2013