A Poem by J.K. Durick

Rubbish Day

It's one of the few rituals we have left
In this neighborhood; it's a matter of
Timing, of course, then placement and
Movement play their roles, rolling our
Offerings to the curb, line the street

One for our trash and garbage and
One for our better selves, recycling
As if bits and pieces will return to us
As if the refuse we produce lives on
Reincarnated versions for further use

On Thursday morning, quite early on
We wheel our plastic bins to the curbs
If by chance a neighbor appears on
The same mission we might bow our
Heads in recognition of the ritual's
Communal nature and then move on

Some of us to work, some back into
Their days of watching and waiting for
Around ten they arrive to a fanfare
Of noise worthy of the place they fill
In our lives; roaring, clanking, beeping

An array of colors and logos; in my
Neighborhood we don't all subscribe
To the same server, we're diverse in
This area at least, different companies
The same service, salvation in one of

Its many disguises, our offerings
Accepted once more, God or the gods
Fulfilled and we begin anew, go on
With our lives of not quite so quiet
Desperation, the purr and hum of our
Time spent as the litter builds up again
Builds inevitably toward next Thursday.



J.K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor.  His recent poems have appeared in Shot Glass Journal, Black Mirror, Third Wednesday, Thrush Poetry Journal, and Leaves of Ink.