trash day

as you sit here,
wet in a towel,
undressed,
sipping bad
instant coffee
you hear the trash
truck back up
with the beeping
horn, the grinding
of the barrel
metal mouth,
it's engine
straining under
the weight of garbage.
once again it's
trash day and your
bags that sit
in the kitchen
are not going to
make it out.
you would have put
them out last
night, but the mean
witch of a woman
down the street
keeps putting
notes on your door
about the raccoons
getting into
your trash when it
goes out
too early. you can't
even deny it's
your trash because
she sees the empty
vodka bottles and
the torn in half
phone bills with
your name on them,
among other things.