City Dump

The blokes at the city dump know their stuff
Each is assigned to a numbered station

the more experienced keeping two in play
Men in orange hi-vis dot the site

It's a noisy place, so there is much shouting
and pointing and waving of arms

At 'Electricals' I am politely instructed not to mix
a dead kettle with the hi-fi's and computers

and to put any batteries in the relevant boxes
on the battered table marked 'Batteries'

It's a drive-through site with two lanes
By chance or good fortune I choose the inside

queuing on the rise towards the compactors
with our broken garden furniture in the back

Inching forward, window open, glad to find
some shade - I notice they are closing soon

Near the top I see that we are being marshalled
by a man with two traffic cones and a scowl

alternately blocking off and releasing us
one lane at a time

The man, let's call him Dave, looks unhappy
as he leans towards each driver in turn

asking what they have in the back
telling them which station to drive to

When it's my turn I lean out, casually
to tell him what I've got. Dave lets rip:

'They fucking know, every bastard knows
it's fucking obvious

one lane for dumping, one lane for driving through!
They just don't fucking care'

'It's a good system, logical, although there's actually
no sign at the entrance to say which lane is which'

is what I do not say to Dave
as he checks his watch and waves me through