The poetic city: “A Joyous Ruckus”

The faces inside the trucks (Photo: Pexels)


“A Joyous Ruckus”
I love the sounds of the garbage men 
when they make their Friday morning run 
up and down our little street. 
The whistles, the bangs, the gears grinding, 
the brakes hissing, and the lovely rumble 
of the compactor are all music to my ears. 
After hurricane Ida, I was so glad to hear them
I went running after the truck as it was driving away 
with tips for all three of the team.  
A few weeks later I watched them 
conducting their business from my porch… 
I waved and they waved back,
hooting and hollering all the while.  
Then the driver stuck his head out of the cab 
and blew me a kiss before they went 
on their merry way. 
I don’t know how they do it;
but I will never take them for granted again.
Taking out the garbage every week is 
no longer a chore. 
It’s an act of grace and gratitude. 
Reece Burka 


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