There is a brown bin on my back porch.
It is filled with pool tarps and bad memories.
It is raining now
And the rain is pelting it,
And if the bin could feel pain,
I'm sure it would be screaming.
I am glad that I can count on the rain to fight my battles for me.
It is like my protective older brother,
Beating the **** out of desperate lovers and child abuse.
That brown bin that I cannot stand.