One person looks at egg shells
Tea bags
Potato peelings
Bread crumbs
Bits of leek, tomato, carrot
Dead flowers, stiff,
Onion skins
And sees rubbish.
Scraps for seagulls to squawk over from spilled bin bags,
Streets smeared,
Summer stink
To high heaven.
But.
Not.
The.
Potential.
Given time.
Heat.
Protection.
A little bit of rummaging.
The promise of rich, crumbling, darkly-latent life.
Ready.
Just
Waiting
To be seen.
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