Aliens from outer space,
Annoyingly hovering above,
Invade my trash most Sunday nights.

They're after the recyclables
--cans, paper, plastic,
Whatever they can get their
Spindly grubby hands on.

Whether they plan to use
The stuff to build a doomsday weapon,
Piece of nifty gym equipment,
Or some fancy headdress,
Who's to say?

I just wish
The little buggers would clean up their mess,
Instead of leaving it
For me on Monday morning.