.8. Refuge Collecting Poem by David Threadgold

Back in the nineteen sixties
Our bin men knew us all
They never missed a pickup
Or forgot to make a call

They trundled down our pathways
In armless leather jackets
Collecting all our rubbish
From the ashes to the packets

Our bins where made of metal
Which they threw upon their backs
Many of the seams had gone
Leaking ashes from the cracks

You never heard a grumble
As they took it to the cart
Bashed it on the metal edge
Until it came apart

They came back down the pathway
To put it back in place
Taking any extra bits
With a smile upon their face

The job was pretty grimy
Needing lots and lots of brawn
Our bin men with their faces black
In leather jackets torn

A pride they took in clearing
Closing gates and leaving clean
An empty bin to fill once more
Was all that could be seen

Today they must have wheels on
Either green or brown or grey
And placed beside the pavements edge
On the right collection day


© 2008 David Threadgold
Rambling Riddles & Rhymes