Wheelie Bins

This week, a short poem.
On seeing things in other things…

A life measured out
in dustbin days,
detritus carried away;
bins wheeled
from our door,
returned empty
ready for replenishing.
What if our Days
could be like that?
Each we could fill to the brim
with laughter
and sunshine
or just the pleasure of living.
Then every two weeks
our joy, once peaked
would be removed –
bin spritzed out –
for hygiene reasons
and
every season, every week
we could restock, refill
and so often
turn the other cheek
to distant unknown neighbours
who,
not as lucky as you
can only fill their bins
half full
or perhaps
that should be
half
empty

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