wheelie bin in winter

because they’re almost speech
my bare feet on concrete
tread the frost like friends
who might turn nasty – unless

I’m disciplined enough
to foster warm relations
or harry them with obsequies
before their time – but anyway

I’m tiptoeing to the re-re-
cycling bin because I can’t bear
rubbish accumulating in
the house – its environs

are challenging enough
(a castle by a frozen
sea, I think) – as I drop
plastic, fibre, glass and metal

articles into their temporarily
dark quiet home in which they’ll wait
for the indecipherable complexity
of what comes next