Litter in the street on a blustery day



Litter in the gutter

Blown in the winds

Wintermen come down from the North

Sweeping in and out


Redistribution of waste not wealth

On a clear blue day

Feet skid on wet cardboard

And the daylight grows dimmer


The tiny slivers that blow against cheeks

As you look across the street

Comparing pavements

Twilight and skin


We hoard and we hoard

Only to strew and stew

Those objects not shiny

Not beholden to our treasure standards


It doesn’t matter, son,

Someone else will pick it up

Someone else with a shiny jacket 

And an instruction to move unseen  

One day, I hope 

The wind men of the North 

Will sting us into action 

To save this soupy world 

Sloth out. 


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