The blue bag is where we put the paper,
scrunched up drafts, drawings of cats.  Bad poems.
We shred our details, deny any I.D. caper.

We have the council rules written down verbatim.
The big white bag to fill with plastic bottles
of a certain size. To go against the ruling is grim.

The whys and why nots would confuse Aristotle.
I’m not saying that the recycling men like to nag,
to be cost effective they have to work full throttle.

We are provided with four different bags.
They like us to wash and remove the paper from the tins.
The food is squelchy and the green bag sags.

Fish dish, offish squish, sluggish rubbish, in
largish smallish, fiendish frumpish, cherish perish, and grin.

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