The Dirty Flowers

As I ride my bike on the busy street in the morning...

The street is unaware of me...

It continues with its routine rituals...

On one side of the street...

I see the garbage collection van...

Again, unaware of me, for obvious reasons...

But I notice it...

Everyday...

The junk, the filth, the dust, the garbage...

All the unwanted material...

Gets collected everyday...

And gets sent to an unknown location...

I notice...

The woman who is gathering the durt...

To be dumped into the van...

I notice...

Her clothes, her hands...

She is unaware of me, for the obvious reasons...

Yet I notice...

Her job - can it be called thankless?

Very important anyway...

I remember the heated talk at my office...

About job satisfaction...

Then, I also notice...

She is wearing flowers in her hair...

...As I ride my bike on the busy street in the morning...

The street is unaware of me...

And no wonder, of the flowers...