Best Bins Poems
Wheelie bins know what you’re thinking
Deep down you know it’s true
They know just what you did last night
And they are judging you
And if you think you see them smirk
When you are walking past
It’s probably not the first time
And it will not be the last
Wheelie bins know everything
Much more than you’d suspect
For they grew wisdom from the pain
And betrayal of your neglect
They did not sit there helpless
When you moved in for the kill
They met up with their comrades
And learned transferrable skills
In the depths of all our gardens
They huddled, gaining strength
From knowledge and camaraderie
They learned woodwork and French
So if you think they are mocking you
With their skills in carpentry
Elles parlent français, mon ami,
Ces poubelles de wheelie
Wheelie bins know what you’re thinking
They know just what you’ve done
So do not cross a wheelie bin
For their time has finally come
You’ll find them down the garden
Happy within themselves
Reading Jean Paul Sartre
And knocking up some shelves
Form:
In the suburbs, once a week,
Recycling bins go out
And wait there, curbside, for the trucks
To pass by on their route.
A glance inside can give a hint
About the different things
The neighbors choose to purchase
And the refuse that it brings.
The water bottles, magazines,
The papers, boxes, cans,
Perhaps the same as yours or ones
Of which you aren’t fans.
The bins provide a service
All communities do seek
While also giving people
Into others’ lives a peek.
Chicago, the South Side,
long before Barack Obama
those I'd love see live
anywhere they like
are those so black
they up long planks
in the heat of summer
wheelbarrow coal
so bright it pours
in a silver seiche
down chutes
through windows
of bungalow basements
crashing in coal bins
of new masters
Donal Mahoney
Who are you
Question asks daily,
Some people want to know
More about you,
You look so meager in their bogus eyes,
You don't possess what they have
But your presence continue
giving them sleepless night.
Hating you due to
What you don't see
"Huuh!"
They are copying everything you do
And continue to ask themselves
Who does he " she" think he " she" is?
"Heeh! Gloomy ...
In your hypocritical eyes"
Your secret identity
terrify them
daily
How could they be
if you had what they have?
Yooh! they could throw themselves
in their bins and septic tanks.
" Death could be their daily songs"
You are gifted,
Just be greatful to God,
for His gifts in you,
Seen and known by many people.
Written 11/2024
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
Coal Bins
Chicago, the South Side,
long before Barak Obama
those I'd love see live
anywhere they like
are those so black
they up long planks
in the heat of summer
wheelbarrow coal
so bright it pours
in a silver seiche
down chutes
through windows
of bungalow basements
crashing in coal bins
of new masters
Donal Mahoney
Mr Bell, it’s Julie from the council, you appear to be inundating our help desk with phone calls, are you alright?
No, Julie, I am not alright. I have seven bins in my garden, and for some reason, you’ve delivered another three, what’s going on?
Can you describe the bins that have been delivered?
One is luminous and at night time, it lights up the whole street.
Right, that bin is your new Nuclear fallout receptacle.
Okay, Julie, I think you’ve delivered that to the wrong address, the power plant is five miles up the road, but I’m sure even they don’t use plastic bins.
No, this is your bin. Now I don’t want to alarm you, but when it gets emptied, the men will be wearing like silver spacesuits, so don’t get alarmed when they come into your garden.
This might sound like a silly question, Julie, but where do I get this fallout stuff to put in the bin?
Oh, I see what you mean. Let me explain. This is actually a smart bin which collects particles through the air, you don’t touch it. What other bin do you have?
I’ve also been given a bright pink bin.
Ok, now this bin is for the LGBTQ community.
Fantastic, one I don’t need.
Oh, we don’t discriminate, Mr Bell, everyone gets one.
Right, Julie, what goes in it?
I would have thought that was obvious.
Well, Julie, if it's that obvious, enlighten me.
Could you not ask one of your Gay neighbours?
As far I know, I don’t have any gay neighbours, though in saying that, we do have mad Madge, who runs about naked at weird times of the night.
What’s the other bin you have.
This is a weird one, Julie, it’s black with four brass handles on it.
Right, this is actually your end of life bin. Now, it’s imperative you give us fourteen days' notice before you use it.
Okay, Julie, let's have a think about this one. People who die don’t tend to go in fourteen days, they tend to just drop dead.
Will you be dropping dead anytime soon, Mr Bell?
If you keep sending me stupid bins, Julie, I’ll be joining mad Madge.
Talking about, Madge, Mr Bell. We sent a young lad with a letter of intent for her, he hasn’t returned, should we be worried.
Got a feeling, Julie, your first end of life bin will be imminent.
Garbage Bins
I recommend garbage bins outside to
be spanked, but ...
not publicly. Why? Because
they stink! Roaches and
blow flies might
uphold, defend that action of
spanking.