SCUM.

The council in town
Must be trying to grow a rubbish tip,
Or at least be countenancing it,
Because the streets appear to have been seeded
With a random pattern of trash,
And fertilized by dog shit,

And have been like it for some time,

And I know the bin men aren’t stingy,
Collecting once a week unlike elsewhere,
So maybe the litter picker’s job
Has been abolished by the latest cuts,
Or is not even attractive to the neediest immigrant,
Or maybe the indigenous tribes,

And assorted low-lives who’ve moved here,

And thrived when economic times were shinier,
Just can’t be bothered to pop their droppings
In the appropriate place anymore,
And that’s why it’s scattered
Across the badly tarmaced roads
And cracked flags of the sunken paseos

That pave the walkways these drunken braves

Take as they’re purged from late night ale houses,
And fast food emporiums,
And forms bread crumb like trails that lead
To and from each and every one
Of the dwellings they seldom scrape clean
Of similar collected crumbs.

Either way it’s a fucking disgrace.