Twice a week in break of dawn br While the stars are outstanding br I screw the plastic lids on tight br Moles and chipmunks might get in br br Summer in my shirtsleeves smart br A chorus of derisive birds br Winter with my overcoat br Frost and mist, dismissive words br br The plastic, glass and house discards br Out by six and standing proud br Proclaiming waste and affluence br Of which we do not speak aloud br br Who has the skills to sort this stuff br The piles we evacuate br Who can recycle or degrade br The trash we have thrown out too late br br Nothing to rescue or be claimed br Once items pass their sell-by date.