BIN MEN

Midway up from Forest Road
and midway down from oak-bordered green
where children play and dogs frolic,
dressed in coveralls the bin men toil.
They drag our bins to the kerb edge
and then empty them into their truck.

                                          Rain soaks their clothing
and runs down the street in rivers.
On the road named after a tree, deep cracks
form matchstalk men in aged tarmac.
The houses are pink and uniform, their inhabitants insular.

While the operatives dispose of our garbage,
where do their minds travel? To sunny climes
I imagine, or Saturday nights with friends at the pub.
They discuss the weather, and admire a pretty girl passing by.

The rain eases, sun peeps through a cloud
and a shard of light encloses them. Weather beaten
faces break into smiles. These men

                                           in boring occupation
put me to shame. Uncomplaining, down-to-earth,
they teach the the pretentious part of me
an important lesson: be yourself - you are good enough as you are

and, anyway, everyone else is already taken...



Wishing you all Happy Holidays...with lots of love and hugs xxx