The winds were lively this week. Power lines down, snowdrifts blocking streets. And in my part of the world, the gusts turned my garbage cans and their contents into projectiles. That still beats having no power.
My efforts, though, inspired some poetry in my head, most of which I can’t repeat. So, here’s a PG-rated interpretation of my thoughts as I sorted through the trash…
T’was a week after Christmas, when all through our town
No refuse was stirring, all neatly packed down.
The trashcans were placed at the curbside with care,
In hopes that the garbage truck soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their room
While weather reports called for wind-driven gloom.
My wife in her PJs and me in my C-Pap
Had just settled into an L-tryp-induced nap.
When out on the street there arose such loud chaos
I jumped from my bed to see what could betray us.
Away to the front porch I flew like a flash
The neighborhood seemed to be covered in trash.
The lights on the crust of the six-day-old snow
Gave a luster to shapes that I thought I should know.
When what to my wondering eye should appear
But bottles and cans that had once contained beer.
A windstorm, so lively, so violent and noble
I saw in a moment our recycling was mobile.
More rapid than eagles these gusts now became
And the recycling’s labels I shouted by name.
“Now Pepsi! Now Sunkist! Now Red Bull and Sprite!
On Blue Moon! On Yuengling! On Pabst and Bud Light!
To the top of my porch! And under the car!
Now blow away, blow away, blow away far!”
As empty cans before a wild hurricane hurl,
Our recycling down the street now took a twirl.
The post-Christmas wind play had now taken form.
It created for trash men, a just-perfect storm.
Then in a twinkling there were sounds from my gutter
Which made me think words I aloud should not utter.
As I drew in my breath and then turned around
I saw that my gutter was now on the ground.
All dressed in faux fur, from his head to his hoof
My neighbor’s fake Rudolph now hung from my roof.
The windstorm had flung him all yonder and way
At the top of my house, now, I think he will stay.
And then with a roar like the waves on Nantucket
I saw the great garbage truck there with a bucket.
The loud howling winds all had such perfect timing
The men on the truck seemed to be pantomiming.
They spoke not a word and went right to their labors
Wading through all the vast waste of my neighbors.
They motioned to each through the wind and the fury
That they must get this fair town cleaned in a hurry.
They were dressed warm and fit, a right sight for the morn
And they laughed at the task that they soon would be borne.
The neighbors saw all their hard work and were thankful
And they offered them coffee, some by the tank full.
No ribbons, no wrappings, our street was so clean
The garbage truck’s people had made it pristine.
Our refuse had taken a great winter’s tumble
And those men on the truck had made us feel humble.
Then they sprang to their truck and on through the town
On this overtime day, they’d let nobody down.
But I heard them exclaim as they drove down the way
“Happy Christmas to all and to all a good day!”
Joe brings decades of journalism experience to the Ridge View Echo, covering everything from local school boards to the U.S. Supreme Court. A former National Law Journal editor and Columbia Law School press officer, he now enjoys telling community stories in Blairstown, where he lives with his wife, Rose, and their two dachshunds.
- Joe Phalon, Contributing Writerhttps://ridgeviewecho.com/author/joe-phalon-contributing-writer/
- Joe Phalon, Contributing Writerhttps://ridgeviewecho.com/author/joe-phalon-contributing-writer/
- Joe Phalon, Contributing Writerhttps://ridgeviewecho.com/author/joe-phalon-contributing-writer/
- Joe Phalon, Contributing Writerhttps://ridgeviewecho.com/author/joe-phalon-contributing-writer/
