Someone dumped a car battery in our duck pond,
Along with fourteen cans of congealed enamel paint,
Two hundred bent rusty nails, a broken tool belt,
A mildewed collection of Ty beanie babies,
Two mauve plastic Adirondack style broken chairs,
And five large black bin bags filled with chicken giblets.
A month later everyone from twenty miles round
Has added their waste to this gigantic mountain.
Ducks have flown, people groan, stench is blown, herons moan.
Local council used to do all waste disposal,
They’d take everything, dump it out of view,
Life was so much more aesthetically pleasing,
Pre compulsory competitive tendering.
Thatcher’s privatisation fucked everything up,
Britain has become a paradise island
For fly by night, mafia, white van man, shitbags.
Harry Rogers in the Red Bedroom, 2nd February, 2023