Slaves - Trish Cann

The bin sack has a solid heft:
tied at the neck it seems to weigh
a ton. I struggle to the lane
then dump it down where bins are left.
Tonight bin-men take it away.
Tomorrow it all starts again;
disposal, accumulation:
the rhythm of uneventful life
to which each chain-bound person sways.
There is no emancipation,
no flight. Self-slavery is rife.
Captive, we measure passing days.

Trish Cann