The Bin Men
A poem by Jennie E. Owen

The Bin Men

When she awakes, it is a grumbling world.
Not quite light, her children sleep like resuss
Dolls on the mattress; fingers stiff in

the early chill. Grey boils, roils with heavy
trucks thundering closer, humming in the air. 
A shout.  She reaches to the empty side

of the bed.  She recalls his face now,
his arms raised, above his head a doll mime,
as he watched them board the train.  That last time.

She suspects there is no outrunning this
artillery, the grinding the gnashing
of flesh in cogs.  She stretches, leaning map

in the mind to her parents, fifty miles,
severed.  Her childhood home torn to pieces
the broken teeth of combs, photo scraps, books,

cement; soft things you do not want to look
at too closely, for too long.  She knows none
of them have any choice now,  in what is
kept, what will be swept away forever.

About the Author:

Jennie E. Owen’s writing has been widely published online, in literary journals and anthologies. She has been nominated for both the Pushcart and Forward prizes. She teaches Creative Writing for The Open University and lives in Lancashire, UK with her husband and three children. She is a PhD student at Manchester Metropolitan University, focusing on poetry and place.

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