the traffic walks
along four lanes of grumble
while abandoned coffee cups
in the morning jumble
provide no ups
to moving clocks
and unread signs
on parked cars on flyovers
sit in wait
from where people jump
away from dreams,
down with a thump
amongst bottles and cans,
a spate of papers and foil,
the refusal regime
won’t tidy it all
as a nation of litter louts
continue to shout
about unanswered plans
disappearing with speed,
knowing this is us all along,
while the sign over the carriageway reads
visitscotland [dot] com