ryan quinn flanagan | garbage day, in the year of the dragon

Garbage Day, in the Year of the Dragon

The garbage truck has come
and gone.


The day is overcast
with much wind
and swirling
snow.


There are garbage cans
rolling in the street
like some dirty ballet
of grime.


Brown cans, black cans,
those pleated tin cans
as well…


I watch them
from the window
as cars slow
to manoeuvre by
without incident.


A few get out
move the cans to the side
before driving off.


Then the wind picks up
the cans roll back into the street
and it begins
again.


A beautiful ballet,
a beautiful glorious
cod stunk
ballet.


Cans like escaped prisoners
on the loose,
dancing their way (like Baryshnikov)
to some strange forgotten
freedom.


And I have enjoyed it thoroughly,
like cold beer
and fava beans cooked
in bacon fat.


Stood watching long enough
that I feel weak in the
knees.


Sometimes it is wondrous to be alive.
The lonely driveway lids so sublime.
The power lines all abuzz.
Cans dancing! cans dancing!
What a marvellous day!
What a splendid harp seal twisted tuning
fork blue-ribbon day!


Standing in my underwear
scratching dry skin forearms
from wrist to
elbow.


The work crowd
will not be home
for hours.


I press my face to the window
blow steam clouds upon the glass
and enjoy enjoy
enjoy!

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