25 Cents - a poem for the bottle return scheme

I neatly store my plastic bottles,

In a plastic bag,

On my plastic floor,

I rinse them out and count,

One, two, three, four…

I trudge through the rain,

Soaked to the bone,

To make an offering,

To a hungry “god”, of metal and plastic,

That crushes each can, enthusiastic,

I’m pretending not to listen to the people behind me complain,

That it’s ridiculous to expect people like them,

To do such fruitless labour,

To waste their days,

Carting plastic in and out,

Of the same building.

Yet they are here,

And they too will feed the machine,

For 25c- it’s better than nothing.