This morning I watched as a garbage truck pulled up in front of my house. I saw no one inside. Upon stopping the metal arms on its side thrust out peremptorily and grasped the blue plastic garabage container sitting on the lawn next to the street. In one smooth arcing motion the container was lifted high into the air and the truck quite ceremoniously dumped the garbage into itself, throwing it back like a shot of delicious schnapps .. and then set the container quickly back down on the lawn - another empty glass on the bar. Satisfied, sort of, the truck then rumbled up the street for its next drink.
“Who says they don’t write poems like they used to,” I said to the Japnese man standing next to me.
The End |
