trash truck

you hear
the trash truck
in front
the house,
turning around
it's behemoth
body
grinding garbage
into its dark
metaled mouth.
the orange men
flipping bags
and boxes into
the loud vortex
of crushed
everything.
and here you sit.
with a bag
of shrimp shells
and fish
sitting by the door
downstairs
stinking up
the house.
you can't count
the times
this happens.
why do they come
so early?
what's wrong with
these people.