The dump is full.
All the more reason to recycle,
and that bin isn't going to empty itself.
Time to sit down
and sort.
Because with all of these bottles
visitors might look down,
scowl,
and label me an alcoholic.
F - - - off.
New Year's was two weeks ago.
Plastic, plastic, plastic,
glass, plastic, plastic.
The ingredients used to make
a nice warm glass of shut the hell up.
A melty snowman here,
a Tom and Jerry there.
We never did get around to making
the blonde sluts or the dead Nazis,
but the homicidal maniacs went down
smooth like Niagara Falls.
Stevens can go sit on the top of his dump.
Maybe if he has some time he can sort the papers,
decrease his carbon footprint so the world doesn't implode.
While he does that I can get in line
and hope to get enough money back
to afford a small bottle of Jack Daniels
to set aside for a rainy day.
Like when I think of her.
That's a good way to fill up the bin.