The Persistence of Rubbish

Luke Kennard

The moon reflected in a broken pair of
star-shaped children’s sunglasses.
The perfect feet of a knocked down statue
survey the abandoned shopping centre.
The cat describes the arc of a fountain as it leaps
the lip of the busted fountain. Grit crackles.
A mural painted over a mural depicts
your worst acts in the social realist mode
and you’re thinking why me as the artist
is thinking why not? An empty crisp packet
rumoured to be the last meal of a martyr
is worshipped by a group of fanatics
dressed as empty crisp packets.
God’s promise not to flood the world again
is a dispersion of light through the study window
of a climate-change-denier’s poem.
Meanwhile a man gets his head stuck
in an ornamental wrought iron gate
and has to be cut free by the fire brigade;
the 2 hour notch they sawed to loose him
visible from the next street forever.
When asked by a journalist he replies:
‘I wanted to see if my head would fit
through the ornamental gate.’
The moon reflected in the journalist’s iPhone
contains detritus of its exploration:
space junk, giant foil wrappers, glass,
an everlasting bootprint, our new logo:
A dust so fine it won’t wash off.