TRASH

TRASH CANS

Roger A. Davis

One used to be able to burn the stuff
In an old 50 gallon barrel, puff, puff
It was such a fun treat
Especially on a winter’s day, the heat

People now sort paper, plastic and glass
I put all mine in a Glad sack and let it pass
It’s my favorite chore
Unless I snag it and it gets tore

I used to haul mine directly to the landfill
They closed that one; it’s just a giant hill
My grandpa and I liked to explore
You could haul home, less or more

Oh what treasures one did find
To a boy, antique rarities, one of a kind
Papa Grace picked up useful parts
He’d make things, like two-wheel carts

Those days are gone, two curbside bins
One red, the other pinkish, size-wise twins
A big truck dumps them once a week
Yet my boyish heart would still like a peek