The garbage truck
passes at ten pm,
its yellow rotation
lights against our windows.
Have we gotten used to waiting for it
listening to it approaching,
sighing mildly
when it passes by.
It is good,
there is still some order in the universe –
a season to pile up the garbage,
and a season to collect it.
Tonight we sit
at the window again,
summarizing the day that passed.
We got up
we washed
we ate a bagel
we typed
somebody called
we made lunch
we walked in the sun
we watched the new
we read
The truck is the only thing left
to round it up.
Brrrmm…
Here it is, coming and going,
now we can go to bed.
Life is not a river, it is not a dream.
It is a garbage truck,
passing by in time.
Tuesday, 3 May, 21.30 hrs.