My turn. Lorry’s coming
this morning. Where
the right bags?
Start upstairs. Spares in the bathroom. Probably. Are they?
Under everything. Label won’t
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
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
so gather, pull, relax, pull, eee-
it, tie it quick
no not that quick, what about all the other ones
Can I get
Do I have
So many from the shopping (still), where
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
What about this room?
Ok, well, it should fit. I’m not looking too closely,
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
How dare they!
Did I replace the other
That got heavy.
Down down downstairs, oh
now this one’s got a hole. Dropped much?
Well, just shove it in.
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,
won’t the ribbony bits just relax and let me?
Yes, fair point.
Was that the lorry?
Which way does it come – this way?
Nearly done. Is that the last downstairs
Where’s my shoes?
Where’s my keys?
Do I really need keys?
No one will notice my
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
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?’
Can’t find my keys though.