Still Life - June 11 2022

 

Still Life

June 11 2022

Driving down

this leafy suburban street

I pass trash can after trash can,

lined up

at the end of every driveway.

Like sentinels, they patiently stand,

waiting

to be relieved of duty

on the assigned garbage day.

It's like a still life

of peaceful contentment;

quiet    . . . settled    . . . secluded.

Except for my car, the intruder,  

as well as the phhhht phhhht phhhht

of sprinklers methodically watering.

Battered metal containers.

Green plastic bins, faded from sun.

And brand new ones,

with nifty wheels

and fancy locking tops.

As well as some plastic bags

slumped fatly at the curb.

Which some dogs have been at,

scattering their contents

for any passer-by

to ogle.

And where scavenging birds

are snatching at leftover scraps

and squabbling loudly;

flapping and pecking

and hopping on thin long legs.

Once a week, full bins go out

heavy with waste.

And when we return

from a day at work

it has all disappeared;

as if by magic

silent garbage elves

have whisked the refuse away,

out of sight

and out of mind.

Where it goes, none of us knows

or frankly, really much cares.

And soon after

most of the cans are gone,

back in the garage

that is their home.

Good neighbours,

who have a place for everything

and everything in its place.

But there's an orphaned top

like a green plastic saucer

stranded alone in the road.

And some delinquent bins

are still at the curb

where the garbage elves left them,

upright

or dropped on their sides

rocking back and forth in the wind.

The slackers and laggards

who don't pay attention

or have better things to do.

And their diligent neighbours

   —   who have manicured lawns

pick-up from their dogs

and are always right on time  —

nodding disapprovingly;

toting theirs back

where they rightly belong.