Litter Pick Surprises

by Christina Moran

There’s a double benefit to litter picks-

clean places and new eyes: not plastic

but a dead leaf skeleton, cellophane thin;

not glass but the glint of recent rain

on a stone; not scraps of torn-up paper

but soft confetti of pigeon feather;

not polystyrene but the round fat

bounce of a fungus, held fast

to a tree; not a length of sodden string

but reed-like grass strung

along a bramble; not some leaking oil

slicked on a slab but a glorious swell

of shadow from the kind of light

September brings; not a cloud of dust

but mist creeping up from the river

edge, the shy moorhens’ cover;

not a straw for a drink or drug

but a dunnock’s desire, a snappy twig;

not the red shout of a Kit-Kat wrapper

but scarlet petals of a poppy flower,

or straggling weedy pimpernel,

or a true wild rose. Even a brick wall

offers some treasure- last night’s snail

squiggled signature is today’s silver trail.

Inspiration: I often litter pick when I go for a walk or to my local shops. Litter and man-made pollution comes in all sizes, shapes and colours, as does nature. In the briefest of fleeting moments my hyper-alert eyes are sometimes fooled – it’s a white stone, not paper; it’s some floppy fungus not plastic; it’s a clump of wet leaves not a discarded hat. And litter fools us likewise by blending into the environment, unfortunately. This observation, and the desire for others to pick up litter (!) gave rise to the poem.

Image by snibl111 from Pixabay

Christina lives in North Hampshire. She has in the past worked and/or lived in London and various towns and rural areas (including those in Hampshire). Many years ago she was mad on writing poetry and had things published in magazines well-known and unknown, and a couple of anthologies.