In the evening
The light is almost gone
putting out the garbage
doing my recycle duty
two neat bins to drag rattle clack to the street.
The avenue is empty, no sound, no other bins there
but I have started something
and down the street the rattle clack begins
all the neighbors come out
waving
rattleclacking
for the Friday morning sleep.
Just a little community connection
the blue bin for milk bottles, news papers
the brown bin for left over wrappers, kitty litter and diapers
something we all do
rattleclack.
Just one knot, one tie
one little leaf in the neighborhood language
a rattleclack thing, in the darkness
a dozen people who don't want to get up at 5 a.m. to put their garbage out.
putting out the garbage
doing my recycle duty
two neat bins to drag rattle clack to the street.
The avenue is empty, no sound, no other bins there
but I have started something
and down the street the rattle clack begins
all the neighbors come out
waving
rattleclacking
for the Friday morning sleep.
Just a little community connection
the blue bin for milk bottles, news papers
the brown bin for left over wrappers, kitty litter and diapers
something we all do
rattleclack.
Just one knot, one tie
one little leaf in the neighborhood language
a rattleclack thing, in the darkness
a dozen people who don't want to get up at 5 a.m. to put their garbage out.
posted by Echo at 12:45 PM
3 Comments:
You don't post often but I always get a little thrill when you do. We started blogging, you and I, about the same time and I imagine I found you or you found me (I have no idea which) soon thereafter.
Oh no Elva here in the city the rumble of the wheels of the 75 gallon plastic bins are oft heard days in advance or just as the truck is a house or two down. This is a no rush community for we never have to spend time sorting to this or that container--I think as a matter of fact the extra deep rumble of certain containers is from all the unbagged junk in them which is supposedly prohibited, but people regardless put in anyway.
This is as close to whats left of rugged individualism in the slums of a city trying to remake its mask.
I have to carry ours to the recycling center. You have private pickup-- what a treat.
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