Litter is a perpetual problem in many cities, but it has gotten particularly bad in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood. So bad, it's inspired the following poem, left all over the neighborhood by an anonymous gardener.
Note to Garden Vandals
pass by a garden and drop into it
your empty beer can, your crumpled cigarette pack and butt,
your candy wrapper, your exhausted bottle of men's cologne,
your dog's poop, your used condom, needle, and napkin, your
to-go latte cup, your plastic water bottle, your half-drunk tea,
your leftover soda and ice, your wad of paper, your disposable
lighter, your vodka bottle, your chewed gum, your apple core,
your popsicle stick, your unidentifiable ticket stub, your cracked cd:
the ghost of your litter drifts wherever you are.
And you, who
yank branches off the smoke trees and steal the dahlias--
what do you make of you?
The tree remembers you as a scar,
the earth understands you as scattered dirt.