“Finding out that garbage and recyclables were collected by the same truck at the same time and dumped into the same recepticle.”

This morning dawned with coffee steam  
And hope—the recycling day had come.  
Bright bins lined curbs like dreams redeemed:  
Blue for bottles, black for gum.  

I watched the truck’s green giant maw  
Devour the rubbish with a roar,  
Expecting soon to see the draw—  
A different truck for each, for sure.  

But metal arms, with practiced grace,  
Lifted both bins at a time;  
Into one cavernous, waiting space,  
Garbage, glass, and paper climbed.  

Egg cartons mingled with orange peels,  
Cans clinked with wrappers, tangled strings—  
A careless swim of plastic and meals,  
No separation in this heap of things.  

Was it always just for show,  
The ritual sorting, the hopeful acts?  
Does my rinsed-out jug, my flattened box,  
End up lost in the landfill stacks?  

Yet, next week, still I’ll sort my waste,  
Still place my hope along the street—  
For sometimes faith is not erased  
By the failures that we meet.  

Perhaps one day those in command  
Will match our care with equal pride;  
Until then, I’ll lend my hand,  
Still dreaming green, with eyes open wide.

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