Its arrived:
Chuckout in our street
Lined with stuff once owned
sometime treasure
now
 Chuckout


Blankets holed 
Cushions dusty, faded
Smelly carpet curling at the edges 
Burnt saucepans 
Unwanted cracked dishes
Cutlery.

Mostly boxes:
Boxes square, oblong,small and large
boxes storing stuff
stacked along our walls
looking tidy.
But we could never see inside 
so opened up to find 
then left them open on our floors
insides spilling out 
untidy.

Beware
You might be next 


Some of the pile has gone already 
One person's rubbish another's treasure.
Please ,please stop bringing home your finds :
replenishing  emptied spaces
what goes out comes back
full measure .

Meanwhile the skies darken 
as they did last Chuckout Day. 
Rain falls softly on the funeral pyre 
the wind begins.
Dead things sprawling limp and scattered :
Old clothes, paper,broken chairs........
the paraphenalia of our lives 
lies in sodden heaps on muddied ground .