Hi there,

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I am a bin

Your humble biographer

Wherever I may be

Beside the kitchen sink yawning in the morning to catch your cereal packet or an unwashed peanut butter jar

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Standing on the landing at University you pass me everyday occasionally greet me with a screwed up tissue.

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At lunchtime I watch open-mouthed as you forage fridges of film-wrapped sandwhiches.

Waste. Produce of haste.

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You haven’t seen what my grown-up brothers do who graduated into industry or work at the supermarkets on the night-shift.

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Finished lunch. Yum - a wooden fork and knife.

At last something but plastic.

Though they’re not going to biodegrade

In a rubbish dump sealed anaerobically.

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I have a cousin. He’s a bit of a hippie.

Got his head dyed green.

Thinks he can take most things

Calls himself a recycling bin

He sends two-thirds of his earnings overseas for developing nations to deal with.

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Evening. Black Friday.

You come in with a discounted ready meal

I feel a fuzzy feeling, like a stocking on Christmas day.

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I am tired

But there is no time for rest

Many miles away

Oceans churn

Incinerators burn

My belly ends and landfill begins.