Too filthy and hefty
unfit for kerbside collection.
Can’t risk some roaming dog shredding
the bags already stretched shiny to bursting
my insecurities not just bared
but snotty billboards
scattered down the road.
A deleted browser history
the heart I abused
a lie told to avoid
putting myself out.
Tarpaulin tied down. Twice.
Can’t have one shred blowing out.
Guilt sticking to the windscreen of the motorist behind.
Shame caught on a shrub on the traffic island.
Fear escaping straight up in the air wafting to settle heavens
knows where.
No need for sat-nav.
Follow your nose.
Sweet smell of the summer dump
steaming in through the air vent
overpowering the strawberry and vanilla.
One stink to kill another.
Grubby round face at the weighbridge.
The number wakes him from his sleepy routine.
Eyebrows raise as mouth-pen droops
exposing blank wonder in between.
Facial builder’s crack.
Scratching sweaty balls won’t change the weight
mate. It is what is. Deal with it. I have.
Gives me the docket and waves me on.
Following me in my rear view mirror.
Happy to be embarrassed backing
the trailer in four attempts.
Disapproving overalls watching.
A slight excited
panic. Getting close now.
Can’t undo the tie-downs fast enough.
Immune to the knuckle-skin caught in the ratchet.
Ready to unload.
Refuse help.
Tip it up.
Push it out.
Tarp
and all.
Tumbling.
Refuse.
A fitting smear of
blood to boot.
Now to be buried. Deep.
Hoping for more
than that twiggy tattered stroller
and brittle garden hose.
Where’s a yellowed piss-stained mattress
when you need one?
Out of there in a clattering rattle.
Trailer bouncing out of pot-holes.
The best 7.50 I’ve spent since a long
black and steaming buttery
cheese scone.
Now home to toss
my dreams in the green bin.
Hoping they’ll come back to me
even as a meat tray or fizzy bottle
and not end up in landfill.
2nd stanza.
Dumping my shit.
Hoping it gets buried deep.
Hoping the good stuff comes back to me somehow.
Ah, yes, I see
this is my world: I work in a weigbridge, among other roles, in waste management…can’t figure out what exactly you’re dumping? like the visual feel of the poem