Bowling Alone in America

At the bottom of the driveways,

our garbage cans meet for hours at a time,
They chat about the weather, about the kids.

We so rarely meet.
Summer too hot, winter too cold.

We've lived on our cul-de-sac for many a moon.
Twice a week, our garbage cans meet.
Eye to eye, they inquire, admire, frown, smile.

Our garbage cans meet for long stretches.
Alas, we so rarely do.