The Bin Men Cometh

It’s getting close to midnight
and I’m back in the old abode –
home from the holidays.
There’s a mini storm brewing outside
and the house is freezing cold.
At the foot of the stairs sit
two plastic bin bags.
And there’s a smell in the air,
like some creature has crawled
inside and died a lonesome death.
I look around just to be certain,
before a fast brown fuzz
catches me by surprise.
Maybe my eyesight is particularly acute.
Maybe it’s the stillness of the air.
Or maybe the mouse is incredibly slow –
weighed down by festive feasting.
For he or she sits frozen in plain sight.
We pause on either side of our divide,
like narrow eyed gunslingers waiting
for the other to blink first.
I notice a perfectly round hole
in one of the bags and figure
this has been the place of merry
rotting fruitfulness for a couple of weeks.
And that’s where it goes
when I make my move –
too slow for a rodent even in slow-mo.
A minute later my brain catches-up
and I think of tomorrow –
when the bin men cometh.


5 responses to “The Bin Men Cometh

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