Jetsam

When there's jetsam
Strewn all over the place
You see cigarette butts
And fragments of old lace.

When there's jetsam,
You see a broken fan
Lying there on the ground
Next to a crushed beer can.

There's an old dog bone,
From a mutt disconnected.
Wonder if it moaned
When the parts were dissected—
Perhaps infected?

No one gets 'em
When they dump all this waste.
Things are dusty—wet 'em
'Fore you cart 'em away.
Where there's jetsam
You'll find pet dumps.

Oh, when the jetsam piles up, there is a chance
You'll find discarded clothes, like some old underpants.
You'll see old chicken bones and ugly ties
That someone tossed away, 'cause they were the wrong size.

In this jetsam
Is stuff that cats wolfed down
Then expelled and mixed in
With some dirt on the ground.

In this jetsam, there could be anything:
Broken toys, empty cans
That held beer of The King.

Look—there's a broken gear;
A cylinder head's stickin'
Out from some Everclear
Bottles whose drinkers consumed contents and sickened.

Sometimes the jetsam
Has a bad rat smell
That rankly emanates
From those rodents from hell.

From the jetsam,
They peer out, beady-eyed.
Then they run underground
To reproduce and hide.

People should be fined:
Littering is forbidden.
Yet it can be mined
For "treasures" that are hidden—
Like gloves and mittens.

Here comes jetsam!
Even if you entreat
Folks not slap down trash
All over the f*ckin' street!