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Management of waste

Tossing garbage bags

Indistinct collection of odd broken glass and dirty rags

Yet amongst the garbage

What is it I see?

A shining precious golden coin, its gold allure it beckons me

I must climb in

This is my big break

Wait it's moving

Turned it on by mistake

Hydraulics start to crush

But maybe if I rush

I'll leave unscathed from a brush

With certain death

I can't move my legs I'm

Trapped with my head in

The gap between the

Crusher and the chute

My arms are now bent the

Opposite way I

Can't feel my legs they're

Disconnected

I can hear me crunch

My bones are turned to dust

It starts to squash my head

But mid-squeeze the lift stops, and the light turns red