Ode to the garbage collectors

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hail, intrepid garbage men!

Orange jumpsuits, sturdy arms

Swift, strong legs,

Driving your orange truck

Emptying orange cans

Into grinding metal jaws

Picking up stray pieces

Of paper, plastic bags

Leaving the street clean

Running to catch up

With the truck as it

Slowly moves toward the

Next group of cans and bags

You come in the dead of night

And I often wake up to the

Roar of the engine and grinder

I’ve even been known

To go to the window and watch…

There’s something so, well,

Dependable? Comforting?

Orderly? Clean? Energetic?

Well, yes, all of those…

I always go back to sleep

With a feeling of contentment.

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