A Rubbish Poem #11

On tender toes, along our street,

Gentle were their booted feet,

So soft and stealthy did they creep.

No disturb came to my anxious sleep.

 

Bright orange tabards, maybe a yellow vest,

Couldn’t rouse me from my troubled rest.

No shouts or call to arms did I hear

As Hi-Viz minions marched ever near.

 

The Beast lumbering behind in their wake

Eager to gorge and feast and bite and take.

Did rattling cans and broken glass conspire musically?

If so, such sweet symphony didn’t carry to me.

 

Noise from traffic grows less each day

As we heed warnings to stay away.

So I wake to see boxes and bags all bare

Each emptiness testament that The Beast was there.

One Comment Add yours

  1. Patricia Dimmock says:

    Love these little poems.

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