A Rubbish Poem #18

A wet grey morn comes dawnin’,

Dawn, dawnin’,

On the scene.

Those Hi-Viz boys come rollin’,

Roll, rollin’

Down the street.

Their steel-toes tappin’,

Tap, tappin’

On black-soled booted feet.

An’ they’re all yappin’,

Yap, yappin’,

With any folks they meet.

Here She now comes a-roarin’,

Roar, roarin’,

Into view.

Man, you best be praisin’,

Praise, praisin’,

She ain’t roaring’ after you.

Her gears are grindin’,

Grind, grindin’,

On the waste we’ve left to eat.

She keeps on crackin’,

Crack, crackin’,

On each left-over tasty treat.

Our piled-high bins are fuelin’,

Fuel, fuelin’,

Her weekly rage.

She’s really burnin’,

Burn, burnin’,

Each crumpled, torn-up page.

Now She’s still fillin’,

Fill, fillin’,

All up with rage and mean.

An’ She keeps right on crawlin’,

Crawl, crawlin’,

Cos on these streets The Beast is queen.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s