Mr Bell, it’s Julie from the council, you appear to be inundating our help desk with phone calls, are you alright?
No, Julie, I am not alright. I have seven bins in my garden, and for some reason, you’ve delivered another three, what’s going on?
Can you describe the bins that have been delivered?
One is luminous and at night time, it lights up the whole street.
Right, that bin is your new Nuclear fallout receptacle.
Okay, Julie, I think you’ve delivered that to the wrong address, the power plant is five miles up the road, but I’m sure even they don’t use plastic bins.
No, this is your bin. Now I don’t want to alarm you, but when it gets emptied, the men will be wearing like silver spacesuits, so don’t get alarmed when they come into your garden.
This might sound like a silly question, Julie, but where do I get this fallout stuff to put in the bin?
Oh, I see what you mean. Let me explain. This is actually a smart bin which collects particles through the air, you don’t touch it. What other bin do you have?
I’ve also been given a bright pink bin.
Ok, now this bin is for the LGBTQ community.
Fantastic, one I don’t need.
Oh, we don’t discriminate, Mr Bell, everyone gets one.
Right, Julie, what goes in it?
I would have thought that was obvious.
Well, Julie, if it's that obvious, enlighten me.
Could you not ask one of your Gay neighbours?
As far I know, I don’t have any gay neighbours, though in saying that, we do have mad Madge, who runs about naked at weird times of the night.
What’s the other bin do you have.
This is a weird one, Julie, it’s black with four brass handles on it.
Right, this is actually your end of life bin. Now, it’s imperative you give us fourteen days' notice before you use it.
Okay, Julie, let's have a think about this one. People who die don’t tend to go in fourteen days; they just drop dead.
Will you be dropping dead anytime soon, Mr Bell?
If you keep sending me stupid bins, Julie, I’ll be joining mad Madge.
Talking about Madge, Mr Bell. We sent a young lad with a letter of intent for her, he hasn’t returned, should we be worried.
Got a feeling, Julie, your first end-of-life bin will be imminent.
-
Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 17th, 2025 15:56
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments3
✨Hilariously, dark comedy at its finest! The bins and Mr. Bell’s reactions make it surreal and funny. Nicely written.
Every council has a Julie.
Good pick of topic. The bins are getting smaller and smaller so that they can charge extra for what used to be a regular pick up. A fun read
They are getting out of hand.
Keep 'em coming Paul, particularly if the topic is as serious as this....
In our block of flats, I live upstairs. Bloke downstairs got bin duty. I must admit he does always look a bit frayed around the edges..... I try to avoid him - always got some story about the bins and his back, or idiots who put the wrong stuff in the wrong bin... obviously hasn't found Julie's phone number yet....
If I need to think, what goes in my bin, I go loopy.
When the deliver the luminous bin...I can see him diving straight in.....
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.