Trash Days

One garbage can
is plenty for the
old lady who
lives next to me.
With a cane
in her other hand,
she wheels it out,
then wheels it in
the next day
in the same way.
A ping pong ball
crawling back and forth
upon a seesawing
table tennis court.
I’ve never offered
assistance, though
the mere thought
provides assurance.
Of course, this resistance
is exercise for her,
for everyone really,
but she’s experienced enough
to notice. To take it from her
would mean a bullet
between her eyes,
stripping her of purpose.
Better to let her tortoise
up and down the drive,
working the burden
so the empty will be curbed
when the heavy subsides.