Ma and Pa woke up one day
And looked out of their window in dismay,
For overnight there had appeared
A gruesome eyesore,
A mountain of litter.

A missive was sent
On an internet form,
To the council who ruled 
The town where they lived.

They waited and waited
For any response 
From the council, to say
We’ll be there very soon
To take it away.

But after a week
The mountain remained,
Only now it had snow
Where a beanbag had burst
Spilling it’s innards all over the ground.

Then the children appeared,
From far and wide,
To play in the snow
And spread it around.

Ma and Pa began to despair,
Another form was sent,
And a message from Ma
To the council direct,
To ask if anything at all
Could be done.

An answer came back,
COVID was to blame
They were short of staff,
But the report 
Had been passed on,
To the street scene team.

Another tweet, another message
The council had made their decision,
We’re not responsible,
 It’s not our land,
A fact we'd told them weeks ago.

The mountain remained
Since no-one knew
Whose land it was,
Or whose job
To clear that mess
From over the road.

Weeks passed 
With  the mountain growing, 
With more and more litter 
Added by persons unknown. 

A van turned up, 
A bloke jumped out,
Inspected the mound,
Got back in the van
And drove away

Several vans brought several blokes
Who surveyed the scene
Over the next few weeks,
But nothing was done 
To remove the now soggy heap.

Then one day, out of the blue
A Street Scene truck 
Pulled up, over the road,
Two men in overalls clutching their grabbers
Got stuck in and dismantled the mess.

Half a day it took them
To move the bed, the mattress,
And the limp remains of the deflated beanbag,
Plus several bags of household rubbish.

Now Ma and Pa can sit in bed
And sip their morning coffee,
Without having to stare
At an ever expanding satellite landfill site.

For the time being at least.