i ask
her,
sitting up in her bed.
it's six a.m. .
what's
that loud
metal clanking,
and grinding,
slamming
again and again?
oh,
it's the garbage men,
the truck
empties the dumpsters
this time
of the morning.
i get up and look out
the window
of her second floor
apartment
facing the loading dock.
a man with a pair of
brown
gloves and a red bandana
around his head
looks up and waves,
thinking
i'm her.
you get used
to it, she says.
now come back to bed.
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