Every Wednesday
Every Tuesday
the guys
in the big
white truck
pull up
to take
our trash.
they are dirty
in need of a shave
and smell like
rotted fish.
yet those
trash guys
have lives
beyond the scum.
mothers
wives
lovers
friends
I watch the tiny
segment of their lives
peeking through my
parlour window
year in
year out.
I see them,
come Tuesday. They
have no idea
that I exist
They only know my garbage.
Copyright © Allen Beilschmidt Sr. | Year Posted 2019
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