Oh, hark! -and hear my tale of old –
‘Tis true in ev’ry way:
The ballad of the garbage truck,
A loud, machine-drawn dray.
The daylight barely paints the East,
The weary man just waked;
A stirring in the quiet air,
A song of metal brakes.
How now, my lads? What sings this sound?
What draws attentive eyes,
A-pressed against the window panes,
Or gathered round outside?
Oh, feel: the porch, the walk, the lane!
Oh, see: the living things!
They shake and dart in worried dance
Of what the daybreak brings.
The song exults effulgently
As it comes round the turn:
Vehicular efficiency
As refuse is o’erturned.
Majestic rolls the garbage truck;
Ungainly -yes, but true.
A dutiful collectioner
Of everyone’s snafu.
I enjoyed every word!
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I spotted this poem and just had to read it. One of my favorite essays is titled My Trash Bin, the hero of the story is our trash hauler, Otis, a man worthy of a poem or two.
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I’ll check it out! We had a great garbage hauler in our first neighborhood; I should dedicate another post to him.
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