Which Bins Go Out Tomorrow?

The evening falls on bins and doubt,

A weekly riddle to figure out.

Was last week blue, or was it green?

The council’s chart remains unseen.

I peer outside, the street half bare,

A few black lids are waiting there.

Old Mrs. Clarke has put hers out—

She’s usually right (though once, in doubt,

She mixed her glass with garden waste,

A scandal neighbours still can taste).

I check my app—it’s crashed again.

Recycling’s due? Or general bin?

The food caddy smells of quiet despair,

But dare I leave it sitting there?

A final scroll through Facebook threads:

“Green this week!” one local says.

Another swears it’s plastics’ turn—

I sigh, uncertain, lessons unlearned.

So out they go, the full parade,

In case I’ve guessed, in case I’ve strayed.

And when the lorry rumbles near,

I’ll watch, with pride—or mild fear—

To see which bin the crew select,

And pray, this time, I’ve got it correct.

GP Thomson