On Tuesdays they come for the recycling

'The Triumph of Death,' by Jan Bruegel the Elder

‘The Triumph of Death,’ by Jan Bruegel the Elder

Then the clouds came down so low they flattened the trees and the rain thickened, the drains backed up, the only color from the dead leaves hanging on like rust, the rest of it graphite gray: and the grocery store clerks and the bagger, the old folks talking about everyone dying, dropping like flies, you never know when your number comes up only God does but I wonder if it’s more a balance sheet, the ins and the outs: most of the boxes crushed and flattened by now in the recycling bins agape, on their sides spilling out like the dead (and if God really does keep track or instead we think too much of ourselves, and no one keeps track). They come for the trash every week, even on holidays: for the pop stars and celebrities, the unknown—and why the weight of the dead, so much heavier than the living, when there’s so much less at stake.

Categories: death, prose

Tags: , , , , , , ,

11 replies

  1. We’re losing our generation’s idols and that reminds us we’re next. Or, and I read this yesterday, their deaths connects us to memories and we mourn our past, even though it died a long time ago. The holidays stir up old grief so that made sense to me.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. To follow your theme of checks and balances, I find dead to be more of an accounting, an issuing of the ultimate balance statement for review before we close the books for good.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. it’s a heavy weight to carry, best to let it go back to where it came, while not forgetting of course –


  4. So well phrased, Bill. The descriptions of the recyclers, the baggers, the old people gossiping – all of us being ‘recycled’ whether pop star or pleb and it all goes on all year round. Sad and true. Lovely Bill

    Liked by 1 person

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