Drop by drop the snow pack dies, watering the arid lands below. |
‘Idál (Justice), 15 Asma (Names), 165 B.E. – Wednesday, September 3, 2008 about 4:29 AM Pacific Time It is Wednesday morning of trash pick up day in my neighborhood. The curb in front of my house is full of trash. I has been full of trash since Saturday or Sunday. The garbage trucks came last Saturday and emptied the trashcans last week. After the trash was emptied Chis came to clean the backyard. He finished that and put the cans out to the curb. My neighbor trimmed the oleanders, bundled the limbs up and put them at the curb. Trashcans and bundles of limbs have set on the curb waiting for today. I have a reprieve from taking trashcans to the curb until either Friday evening or early Saturday morning. I think I'm going to aim for Friday evening. For some reason it's easier for me to take trash to the curb the evening before the scheduled pick up time. It isn't that I'm not up that early, it's just that the cans need to be on the curb before 7:00 AM and I have other things to do then lug trashcans to the curb. Trashcans at the curb aluminum and plastic waiting for the hungry garbage truck to arrive and relieve them of their treasure. During their long service to this house the aluminum cans have aged, have acquired the scars of service as week by week their burdens become someone elses problem. That is as far as I gotten on my trash pick up poem. I think I wrote another one a couple of years ago. I will have to find it and see if it needs rewriting. I'm not sure where the present poem is going. I'm attempting some type of metaphor or simile, but I'm just not sure what it is this morning. |