(I expect this set of tosspots will be looking for a tip soon!)

 

Filled with chilli,

Flowers and spinach,

Bent locks and keys,

Old crockery,

Barbeque ash and empty baked bean tins;

As down the yard

I struggle hard

It’s almost full

So hard to pull

Ah, but I’ve failed to try and catch the bins.

 

So then next week

I’d creep and sneak

And lie in wait

At half past eight

To ambush the cart before its shift begins

But watched in vain

As down the lane

The cart and crew

Disappeared from view

So then yet again I’d failed to catch the bins.

 

So to the tip

Nigh on a skip

Of household waste

I hot-foot raced

But felt uneasy as the binman grins

“We’ve got enough

Commercial stuff”

I cry “It’s not”

He says “This lot’ll

Have to go inside your wheelie bins”

 

Next week it’s Christmas Eve

And they hope I’ll leave

A quid or two

For the valiant crew

But “Fuck ‘Em!”.

 

But then next time

A load of grime

From empty sacks

And squashed Big Macs

Litter my drive way deep up to my shins

So learn from me

And, honestly,

My best advice

At any price

“Just bite your tongue if you fail to catch the bins”.