Could it have been wrath that led them up my garden path,
Full of anger and hate, they didn't hesitate,
Or take heed of rusty gate,
Or was it greed that drove their selection,
To add my grey bin to their refuse collection,
It wasn't sloth that made them wheel it off in broad light of day,
A sitting truck with two wheels and a handle begging to be carried away.
I could up the ante! put an advert in the newsagent,
Become a wheelie bin vigilante,
'Don't cause trouble' said my dear wife,
'Both sets of neighbours are near the end of their life,
Move on its over' and yet I'm looking over my shoulder,
Seeing bins that might be mine,
Every Thursday morning standing in a line.
Was it a sweetheart's challenge to her headstrong lover,
To fetch a trophy of their love for each another,
You know I wouldn't even bother ! I don't mind !
But the bin-men round here are not colour blind,
I need to recover the grey one with some haste,
As there's so much non- recyclable waste,
That flies and rats have chosen my place,
For their 'Victory Over the Human Race',
'Street Party', an all- you- can- eat pestilence jamboree,
And still the bin- men hairy, sweary and cold hearted,
Leave my back yard a wilderness uncharted,
I overheard a neighbour say 'this is how the plague of London started'..
I make contact with the local council,
What am I to do ?
My wheelie bin triumvirate have become two,
And whilst there is more of this to tell,
Let's just say it started with a stolen bin,
And now Im living in landfill hell,
Its filth and dirt extreme,
So SOS a boiler suited cleanup team,
(Ones without a sense of smell),
And while we 're on a role what about pest control,
The full Environmental Heath ensemble,
With a body bag for the decomposing Womble.
Some time later the clean up is complete,
You could eat your lunch off my concrete,
It's the sweetest smelling yard in our street,
But the jewel in the crown,
Is not the green or brown,
It's the colour grey,
That makes my day.
And now I smile with ease,
Bins should live in three's,
'No Hot Ashes Please'