Story
Tiring shift coming to an end,
The trash, the arm, the bend.
On my way home,
Rethinking the same quote:
“See you tomorrow. Same time, same place.”
Coming home to my family,
Kids asking when dinner is ready.
Hands sore, wanting to take a shower,
But I still give them a adequate answer:
“Yes, I’ll make something right now.”
I know I make enough money,
But when will they ever appreciate my time?
Working so hard - day and night,
Picking up trash - left and right.
Punching in the same route number - one through five.
What would happen if tomorrow, I waved goodbye?
“Food is ready.”
Thinking back,
Did I miss a house?
Still thinking about the same route,
Thinking about my children's health,
Is this job worth the risk?
Waking up early and sleeping late,
Asking myself continuously,
“How do I get through the next day?”
The same time,
Surviving against the hard working days.
The same route I drive on,
Will I ever forget?
The same route I look at,
Will it ever change?
Forever the same occupation,
The garbage man.
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