The Dumpster

We've ordered a dumpster. It will arrive tomorrow.
Into it we will put many, many shovelfulls of adobe dirt from the piles in our front yard.

I am really looking forward to the dumpster. I mean, really. I'm giddy like a schoolgirl. Even though I was never actually giddy as a schoolgirl. The thing is, when that dirt goes away, it's not coming back. It's gone, gone, gone baby! Whoo-eeee!! See, I'm just all a flutter with excitement. Bye-bye nasty dirt that nothing grows in. Ta-ta! See ya...never again!

It makes me think of a poem I've been messing with for years. The latest incarnation goes like this:

***

Rain on Fresh Concrete

The sound draws us to the window like the circus come to town.
All that we had left outside is now initiated by rain. It’s true that much
had been well on the road to molds and rust, anyhow. But the concrete,
newly poured, was not yet set in its ways. We rush the storm:
wheel in the mixer, toss empty bags, fling tarps over the new path.
The rain never pauses for breath. We are alone in our remorse.

We, who celebrate every square inch of adobe we bury with bricks and cement:
that much less mud the next time it pours. Cover it in lining, rebar, gravel, concrete. Planter boxes on top filled with dirt.
Dirt in boxes over concrete over dirt.
The strata we make of our lives.


***


Okay, but that's way to somber for my Getting-a-Dumpster-Eve mood. So how about this:


Adobe is sticky, adobe is dark
Moving adobe ain't a walk in the park
Instead of adobe, I'd rather shovel rocks
but we're putting that adobe in a BIG METAL BOX.

Uh.
Maybe I should go to bed now.

G'night.