Rubbish

We sped through the hidden wilderness from Dallas to Flagstaff,
combing through every desert we could find.
And even when we went through the barrenness that precedes Las Vegas,
we spied scattered bits of ragged plastic caught on barbed wire
and waving like a flag of surrender in the war against filth
we have world, the world is our rubbish bin.

Then we drove to some small corporate city in Northern California.
There was mist rising from the hills and a cool breeze slid in from the bay.

Side walks cleaned and hedges trimmed, the artificial forest is pristine.

When the wealthy own something they keep it clean and functional.
When the poor don't own where they live they keep it dirty and broken.
The poor write on their toilets and the walls and their stop signs.

Some sought to fudge the equations by giving the poor homes they could not afford
and thus was brought low the financial centers and the world.

Maybe there are no short cuts when it comes to the concrete jungles we inhabit

still, what if we taught children from kindergarten that it is a sin
to use the world as your rubbish bin?
And that it is morally wrong to use the world as your ash tray?
And that bad people put trash down anywhere, everywhere.
And that good people pick up their leavings and throw them away.
And that better people have less trash in the first place.
It won't fix everything every where, but there will be less
filth on the streets.