Trash Day

Trash day

Instructions say to put the trash by seven-thirty out

And thus at early hour by the curb the barrels sprout.

But eight o’clock now turns to ten, and soon it’s noon or three

And still the barrels wait by curb — it’s irksome, you’ll agree.

But on that rare occasion — hadn’t cleaned the fridge in weeks —

And thus I have a plastic bag that positively reeks

Then that’s the day when morning sun is peeking from the east…

I hear the telltale rumble come, that growling, wheezing beast.

So chasing after fleeing truck, I wave the sack of stink —

“Conspiracy!” I shout out loud; what else am I to think?