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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