Between the calloused shortnailed
thin fingertips stack
all the pieces.
On the tarmac path a stubby, smashed. It’s not
That Sort Of Area, but this corner
attracts the fling-and-smashems.
Ten metres on there’s a house whose bins
are kept in front.
Stack all the pieces.
A nice green, a lucent lightdark green.
Too sharp to recycle
or mosaic.
By the nail of the pinkwhite
right middle finger, plastic
fire-engine blood. No pain.
After the bin clamp down the thumb and index
to close the capillaries, and walk back
to the lock that fits the key.
Blood and water down the ugly drain
to the septic tank and the leach drain.
Between the calloused shortnailed
thin fingertips stack
all the pieces.