In The Bins

“I can’t drink fridge-cold
lager or cider,
it has to be lukewarm…
Jesus, I’m getting hiccups
just thinking about it.”
she explained.
“Same with scran,
I warm my hands
upon the side of the soup
from the Van Run
in the evenings,
until it’s cooled down a bit
before I dip me bread in it…
or I’d be in absolute agony
with me stomach all night.
When you’re in the bins,
there’ll be bits n’ bobs
in most cartons and boxes,
but the more pristine
the packaging condition
the better chance
of a substantial find inside
… don’t ask me why?
it’s just one of ‘em things.
Here’s a big, fat burger
with a single bite taken out
… ha, look at your face,
don’t you worry now,
you’ll soon enough get over
those delicate heebie-jeebies.
Besides, most folk
ain’t got diseases to catch
from a bunch of leftovers…
you’re far more likely to die
from the salt, cholesterol,
or a bloody good kicking
whilst cold, pavement kipping.”

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.