Poetry

At the gate to the street
there are dustbins
and rubbish bags heaped up
and you have
to walk on the tar road
in order to pass
 
and it grieves me
that the municipality
now still cannot get this sorted out.
 
In town the rioters
pass under police escort
and rubbish is being dumped into the street
as if we are living
in the middle of a rubbish dump.
 
I have to swerve out
to avoid the rubbish
and the rioters are singing in revolt
and scream and shout jeering
 
and I see them throwing branches
and small trees
into the traffic
as if they have the right
to cause damage
and see the police
still keeping their distance.