5 Feb

Wherever you go, you scatter litter.
Crisp packets, beer cans, gum – you lead a long
Fat, slick of garbage – with every piece
Forgotten the instant it leaves your hand.

Now I could get preachy and tell you
That I’ve never dropped so much as a scrap
Of snotty tissue on god’s good earth –
But I’d be lying. No-one is perfect.

But with you it’s like a code of honour.
A ritual. A rite of passage gone mad.
And the shame that would come from being seen
Actually putting litter in a bin…

Perhaps when you die, as a mark of respect,
We should stuff your coffin to the brim with
Crisp packets, beer cans, gum…



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