I think they pick up the garbage
On Fridays
Because by Wednesday
Bloated, bulging bags line the street.
By Thursday, the sidewalks are decreased
To one-way traffic
Made narrow by towers of it.
But by Friday,
They’re relieved.
This week,
Christmas trees join the junk on the curb
Dying and laid on their sides
Sucked dry of joy and life.
Merry lights have long faded
And baubles are back
Packed in their styrofoam beds.
No matter the day,
Discarded pieces of homes
Line the street
Clog the curb.
Items made into trash
By time.
Maybe a 20-year-old transplant will
Pick these memories up
Refurbish them
And say,
“Great find, right?
I got it off the curb.”