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Poem

The front of my building has bushes
But also unfortunate gluts
Of something invasive and ugly – 
A mountain of cigarette butts.

I’ve never seen somebody toss one – 
I doubt if my tongue could be held –
For such utter contempt for the garden
Is certainly unparalleled.

Though smokers must bide by restrictions,
On streets they may puff as they please;
So when time for a toss is upon them,
They answer to no referees.

You’d think they would be diplomatic,
Considerate, civil and kind;
But second-hand smoke and its dangers
Isn’t all that they’re leaving behind.

The next time I notice a smoker,
I’ll follow his trail as he struts,
And gently remind him that Nature
Has no room for his ifs, ands or butts!

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