it's not litter - per se - that annoys me
rather the thoughtless impulse behind it
she busks on saturdays
with a friend on guitar
and I always send my son
to drop fifty pence in the case
and sometimes he dances
to show his affection
for the music
for the sunshine
for being alive
and I always say hello
to the african with the oud
who gets free tea
from the methodist church
and whose smile
is wider than a nile
crocodile
his voice is as velvet
and on my way back
from oxfam
with a poetry collection
I give him my shrapnel
to brighten his day
they give for free
among the wrappers
which scuttle like birds into hedges
and they always say thank you
and carry on singing
for not everything dropped in the street
has no meaning
The Blue Book
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