Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

Recycling goes in the yellow bin. Recycled dreams turn yellow with age, like sepia photographs bent in brittle frames. Recycled hopes are yellow-green where envy’s weeds seep in. Recycling goes in the yellow bin, but New Year promises smell sweet. Don’t have to recycle. Repeated resolutions are good to keep.

“I had a dream,” said the child. “What sort?” “A bad one.” “How?” "I dreamed that people were red white and blue, but the green ones were always in charge. I dreamed that hair was black white and gray, and eyes were sky-blue pink — even knew what it looked like — with polka-dot borders. But if you didn’t have polka-dots no-one ever listened to you, and you never got green.” “It was only a dream; go to sleep,” said the mother. So the child went to sleep and Mom read the news where the green ones told her what to do.