ANDREW BLAKEMORE - The Refuse Collection

The morning wakes 'neath winter skies
Still dark save for the lamps that shine,
As two men roll the dustbins down
Each pathway to the kerb,
One works the left one works the right
The wagon trailing far behind,
Yet inching ever closer till
The hush it does disturb.

Side by side the bins in pairs
Now line the bleak and empty street,
Like statues formed of rusting steel
They stand as if in shame,
Each bears the number of the house
That's painted on their battered lids,
Some bent so they now barely fit
Their poor misshapen frame.

They wait for workers brawny hands
To lift them to their shoulders broad,
Then tip the trash into the truck
And place them down again,
The houses lit by amber light
That flashes on the driver's cab,
The wagon's engine roars so loud
While bin men toil and strain.

The crunch and crash as bottles break
And cans are crushed into a bale,
Within the strong and mighty jaws
Which chew the rotting cud,
One bangs the side it moves along
As bins are dragged back into place,
Then stops again to gather more
Discarded filth and crud.

ANDREW BLAKEMORE

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-refuse-collection/