My turn. Lorry’s coming

this morning. Where

are

the right bags?

Start upstairs. Spares in the bathroom. Probably. Are they?

Under everything. Label won’t

come off.

Wrong side. Does the label go in recycling?

Unscroll, unfurl, tear care

…fully, there. Nope. But close. Hole won’t matter much. Probably.

Pinch, rub, rub,

rub, rub, come

ON.

Lickety split, lick finger – two thumbs, crumbs, come

ON yes, rip the vacuum out of it, give it a hissy voice, up, sharp

down let it shout

OUT as the air goes in.

Deflated excitement, leave it hanging, lid off the bin

(euwch)

so gather, pull, relax, pull, eee-

-asy does

it, tie it quick

no not that quick, what about all the other ones

upstairs?

Can I get

in

the rooms?

Do I have

spare bags?

So many from the shopping (still), where

do

we keep them?

What’s in here?

Does this floor never get hoovered?

Why has he put THAT in the bin? No point even having a bin

in here.

What about this room?

Really?

Ok, well, it should fit. I’m not looking too closely,

but,

no well, it’s gone now.

Are they here yet? That rumble outside?

Just a bus. Wrong kind of engine. I

think. (Is it black bins this week actually? What did number 14 put out?)

How are they on holiday

THIS week?

How dare they!

Did I replace the other

one?

That got heavy.

Down down downstairs, oh

now this one’s got a hole. Dropped much?

Well, just shove it in.

Kitchen:

No, that was supposed to go in recycling. Too late.

Flap, pull, slide, look at me, I’m the expert now!

No one’s looking, probably for the best.

Do these handles have to tie

and if so,

why

won’t the ribbony bits just relax and let me?

Just relax.

Yes, fair point.

Was that the lorry?

Which way does it come – this way?

That way?

Nearly done. Is that the last downstairs

one?

Where’s my shoes?

Where’s my keys?

Do I really need keys?

No one will notice my

slippers

if I don’t slip.

Just look confident. Like a politician. Do

politicians put out bins?

Who makes sure it’s shredded?

That’s definitely the lorry now, typical weather

might rain any minute, these slippers aren’t really

right. What’s left?

Please be the right bin this week.

Gosh, that’s heavy, what are we even putting in

there, come

ON, turn, bin. Just to the edge, don’t want to trip the

older gentleman when he’s walking his dog –

look, there he is now! Grin. Don’t wee on my bin.

Or my slippers, thank you.

Lovely dog, no idea what breed.

Sun’s coming out? Well how about that…

looks like I’m last in the street to get our bins out again this week

(if you don’t count number 14).

All our stories, collected, bagged. Identities

worried away and sorted.

‘We’d like to recycle the story of your life, would you

just sign here

on the line?’

Fine.

Can’t find my keys though.