The Incinerator

This blog is taking a few days off for the Easter Holidays.

Before I go, however, I leave you with a soliloquy that is a pastiche of William Shakespeare's "All the World's A Stage".

This is about our wasteful society.

The Incinerator
 
All the world's a tip
And all the men and women merely dumpers;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time fills many bins,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Using many thousand disposable nappies
And then the whining school-boy, with his crisps
And coke cans dumped, dropping his chewing gum
On the roads to school. And then the lover,
Leaving pizza boxes and discarded beer cans
Drunk with his girl. Then a driver,
With gas guzzling cars, cigarette smoked at speed
Thoughtlessly thrown onto pavements as he goes
Even in the road sweeper's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
And dustbins full of empty vintage wine bottles
Full from Vin d'Honneurs and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the obese and slipper'd pantaloon,
Leaving dog mess on green paths as it has always done
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too short
For his vast shank; and his big manly voice,
Lost in grunts as he sits on the sofa, eats
And channel hops the day away. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is house clearance to incinerator of lifetime junk
False teeth, contact lenses, moth balls, and everything
Excepting the deceased, burnt himself elsewhere.