open letter to the city of portland
Dear Fair City of Mine,
Hope this letter finds you well. Have you had a good summer? Mine's been okay, pretty quiet really. Anyway, the reason I'm writing is this: my bucket is gone. Not so very long ago you asked us to stop putting our glass recycleables in paper bags on the curbt and to instead start putting them in something sturdy like a bucket or a tub, for the safety and convenience of our disposal workers. Bags, paper especially, aren't sturdy and after a long night of Portland drizzle don't hold up very well when they're yanked up off the ground full of heavy glass bottles. Something tells me the bags split and the bottles come crashing and tumbling out more often than not.
So, you asked nicely if we would mind putting our bottles in a plastic bucket and I thought that sounded pretty reasonable, so I dug this plastic bucket out of my trunk which had been riding around in there awhile because I was planning to donate it (among many other things) to my work. That's what I do with almost everything I don't need or use anymore. That's how my refridgerator poetry magnets ended up in the kitchen of the drop in center. Fortunately, though, I kept forgetting to take the bucket (among other things) out of my trunk and into work, so it was still there the other day when I went looking for it. Like a good citizen, I filled it with several weeks worth of glass recycleables and dutifully deposited it on the curb beside the yellow bins.
Well, City, when I woke the next morning my bucket was gone. It was, after all, a good, sturdy, blue bucket with a good handle and I did have a pang of concern as I left it on the curb full of bottles. What's to stop someone from walking off with my bucket? Apparently nothing. My bucket is gone and City, you know what that means? It means you'll be getting my glass recycleables in a bag again until you bring me a bright yellow, city-issued bottle bucket to match the bright yellow recycle tubs. That was the only plastic bucket I had.
Your friend,
*RPP*
Hope this letter finds you well. Have you had a good summer? Mine's been okay, pretty quiet really. Anyway, the reason I'm writing is this: my bucket is gone. Not so very long ago you asked us to stop putting our glass recycleables in paper bags on the curbt and to instead start putting them in something sturdy like a bucket or a tub, for the safety and convenience of our disposal workers. Bags, paper especially, aren't sturdy and after a long night of Portland drizzle don't hold up very well when they're yanked up off the ground full of heavy glass bottles. Something tells me the bags split and the bottles come crashing and tumbling out more often than not.
So, you asked nicely if we would mind putting our bottles in a plastic bucket and I thought that sounded pretty reasonable, so I dug this plastic bucket out of my trunk which had been riding around in there awhile because I was planning to donate it (among many other things) to my work. That's what I do with almost everything I don't need or use anymore. That's how my refridgerator poetry magnets ended up in the kitchen of the drop in center. Fortunately, though, I kept forgetting to take the bucket (among other things) out of my trunk and into work, so it was still there the other day when I went looking for it. Like a good citizen, I filled it with several weeks worth of glass recycleables and dutifully deposited it on the curb beside the yellow bins.
Well, City, when I woke the next morning my bucket was gone. It was, after all, a good, sturdy, blue bucket with a good handle and I did have a pang of concern as I left it on the curb full of bottles. What's to stop someone from walking off with my bucket? Apparently nothing. My bucket is gone and City, you know what that means? It means you'll be getting my glass recycleables in a bag again until you bring me a bright yellow, city-issued bottle bucket to match the bright yellow recycle tubs. That was the only plastic bucket I had.
Your friend,
*RPP*
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 10:12 AM
1 Comments:
Here, here.
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