It’s Tuesday, Oh-eight-twenty-five.

I waken, fresh and rested.

My ears attuned and listening for

The approach of Hi-Viz vested

Minions and The Beast

To come bearing down our lane

For, without their weekly visit

Life isn’t quite the same.

It’s Tuesday, Oh-eight-thirty-three.

I check again, look down the street,

For a sweet sight or the sound

Of those marching, booted feet.

I’m counting down the hours,

Still ticking off the mins,

Until Hi-Viz and The Beast roll by

To gorge on our roadside bins.

It’s Tuesday, Oh-eight-forty-eight.

And you’ve still not yet been to call.

I watch and wait, and pause and doubt

If you’re going to come at all?

We’ve boxes of cans and bottles,

Bags of papers and waste food scrap

Please, hasten, Beast, come visit quick

And rid us of all this crap.

It’s Tuesday, Oh-eight-fifty-seven.

I hear the glass, it’s smashing!

Peering out, I can see them now.

Oh My! Don’t they look dashing?

The Hi-Viz boys are on their way

Donned in bright orange cloth.

They lead The Beast as She crawls closer

To extend on us her wrath.

It’s Tuesday, Oh-Nine-Hundred.

You’ve been, you’ve called, you’ve left.

Despite my joy at glimpsing you

I now feel quite bereft.

It’s another week of waiting,

Seven more days to anticipate.

So, when Tuesday finally crawls around again.

Hasten, Beast, please don’t be late.