BIN-O-PHOBIA

It happened one fine Monday,
On alighting from the bus
I heard a low pitched rumble
And asked, what was the fuss?
Then I spied blue Iidded wheelies
Lined up row on row,
Folk performing a tribal dance
As they trundled bins to and fro.
They're in alleys, streets and gardens,
Adorning many a home,
Some have theirs on proud display
A futuristic garden gnome.
Now our cans, bottles and plastic,
Once kept sacredly apart,
Can be squashed, then tossed without a care
Into the same new cart.
Oh, we ’re lucky to have collections
In the UK, there’s no doubt,
But we can’t help feeling angry
When our full bins are missed out!
Chasing the refuse lorry
Has become such an obsession -
Could it replace the Tideswell Morris
In our torchlight procession?
Yes! The brand new Wakes committee
Could save itself from stress,
By staging a competition
For best wheelie fancy dress.
So forget those red collection tins,
For now each lass and laddie
Can process whilst rattling pennies
In a neat green kitchen caddy.
Well, I’ve studied the complex leaflet,
Now maybe I'll take a degree,
Enrol up at Derby Uni.
Do a course in Binology.
Or perhaps I'll decide to end it all,
Give up, call it a day-
Jump head first into my bin
And throw myself away.
That plastic bin will not rot down,
So in future some time team boffin
May dig it up and think I’m in
An ancient, mobile coffin.


written during a bout of bin-somnia.

Perhaps un-surprisingly Brian’s bin there before! This from Wakes 2005.

Kathryn Black

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