Rubbish

I see people buying things and
  throwing them away;
I see it outside their houses
  every single day.

I see the lack of respect this
  dismal junk collects;
Much of it for children which
  they very soon forget.

There it lies in jumbled heaps,
  discarded and ignored;
Insult on top of injury
  never to be mourned.

Not all rubbish is garbage. Look!
  There’s some kiddie’s trike;
Surely, he loved it once
  before growing into bikes.

Now that bike is cast off too
  not even sold or stored;
The chain rusts, the chrome pits
  and the handlebars corrode.

It lies forgotten and ignored
  in some weedy shroud;
No more to swing down the lane
  with joyful bell out loud.

Not upright as it should be
  but chucked down on its side;
Exposed to winter’s cruel
  tirade after its last ride.

My bright new bicycle
  saw me, old at just thirteen,
Oiling gears and chains,
  polishing a freedom machine.

I could not tell a child now
  to clean between the spokes,
To get the rim shining bright.
  why, he’d say, it ain’t broke.

Toys your kids tire of
  they are not the only remnant;
Grown-ups chuck out stuff too -
  whatever they think is spent.

Building toss on toss
  the trashy mountains man has made.
Yes, cardboard rots, steel rusts
  and gloss eventually fades.

Yet always there is plastic
  persisting persisting;
And for all our good intent,
  stays ever resisting.

© RM Meyer
North Devon, May 2019