Sleepless in Nice

The silence settles when the last
Few revellers pack their things and go:
The meal’s complete, the evening past,
The drinks all drunk, the stories told; and so
It’s time for drifting home to rest.

No sooner than that peace arrives,
The dustmen come and tie the wheely-bins in trains
And drag them rattling on the cobbled street
To where a lorry waits to gorge on all our waste;
And then the bins, re-tied are rattled home again.

A moment’s sleep and then the cleaner has his turn
With pressure hose to wash away the evening grime,
The plastic litter and the canine waste:
That way they keep us all awake till breakfast time.

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