Repugnance Recycled

My neighbour is blithely slobbish
the way she just dumps her rubbish.
But what I found – was not that seen.
Nothing ever is black or green.

It is 07:52.
From my back window I look down on a neighbour lifting rubbish off the rear seat of her car and dropping it behind the L-shaped brick wall at the end of the communal lawn of our flats.
Literally, I cannot believe my eyes.
Until she does it again.
Then she drives off.
She actually dumped rubbish on her doorstep.
On my doorstep.
She can live in shit, but don’t turn my home into a slum.
How bloody anti-social.
Her appalling behaviour!

I would speak to the woman, calmly voice my views.
Except we live in south-east England suburbia where no one acknowledges another, let alone speak with them, even to say “Hello, neighbour”.
So my grievance grows, a mental malignancy.
A brain-worm of frustrated exasperation.
Breakfast eaten, not tasted; thoughts gnaw-gnawing.
Where she usually parks by the brick wall, I shall pile her rubbish.
Put a notice on the pile pointing out her unacceptable ways.
I shall wait until darkness, smash the side window of her car.
Stuff all her rubbish back where it came from.
First I need to see its magnitude.
Down to ground floor, along the hall, round the corner to the brick wall.
With camera ready.
In the L-angle I see a wheelie bin.
A rubbish bin.
I try to dump all my malicious imaginings.
My appalling behaviour!

Wait a second.
The bin lid is flung back, left open to let in rain and vermin.
The bin is brimful of rubbish.
The bin is green.
Green for garden waste not for landfill.
The Council won’t empty it – not the right contents.
The gardeners won’t empty it – not in their remit.
The residents won’t stop overfilling it – not their problem.
I recycle my first assessment.