Our binmen come by once a week
The eve
before – bags in the street
All filled
to bursting with debris;
What “chuckers-out”
we seem to be!
To avoid night
ravages by foxes
The commune
gifts us plastic ‘boxes’
Complete
with lids to keep scraps in;
Long live
our cheerful orange bin!
Our modern
truck, once horse-drawn cart
Always
makes an early start
It rumbles
past; we’re scarce awake
All clear
by breakfast - which is great!
My orange
bin lay open wide;
A hungry
slug had crawled inside
Wet and
slimy, like the rain:
I chucked
it down a nearby drain!
My woodland
enclave in Boitsfort
Whose leafy
walks I so adore
Is home to
fauna of all kinds
And like
today, prompts my wee rhymes!
(c) Poet in the woods 2024
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