Because the land we should not fill
With remnants of our daily swill
Our Mayor says to prove we’re green
The garbage sort must be pristine

Which means your bones and table scraps
Unless you have a dog, perhaps
Will now combine with yard proceeds
To rest in peace with grass and weeds

So einy, meiny, miny, mo
You have three bins where you can throw
Your trash, once you consult the stars
On how to handle lids of jars

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great
But question how, one who’ll create
A two mile trail with rubble strewn
Can whistle such a loud “green” tune

For though our Mayor acts so chaste
About reducing landfill waste
No clean green or recycling bin
Will hold the Viaduct’s scraps within

Carol Smith