monday trash

in the morning,
lying there, alone.
the sun slipping in.
the trash truck already
backing up
in the court, beeping,
grinding away,
its big door slamming
as bags are tossed in,
you lie there thinking,
summing up your life.
where it's going,
what's been done.
what's next, but then
you think about the three bags
of trash in your
kitchen. it's too late
to run outside.
now you have to wait
until Monday.