Anyone who has woken up to the sound of a bin lorry and realised their bins are still in the garden will recognise the situation here. The speaker is hovering anxiously, watching for the trash man, who might come early in the morning or closer to noon. They can't even tell whether he's already been, which makes the waiting worse. The hopeful "surely he must come soon" suggests they're still clinging to the chance of getting the bins out in time.
Then the poem turns. The last two lines drop the worry and become a direct, slightly comic apology, addressed to the trash man as if he could hear it. The repeated "Trash man trash man" sounds like a plea, almost childlike. The mood is light, humorous and a little guilty, turning a tiny everyday failure into something that feels dramatic. The title, "Monday Morning Regret," fits that mix of sleepy panic and embarrassment.