Litter Picker
Recently, I was sitting in my car at the traffic lights waiting for them to turn green, when I noticed a very old woman on the pavement. She had her handbag hanging from the crevice of her elbow. In the same hand, she held a plastic bag. I sat watching her for a few moments as she bent down now and again, picking up the litter that had been deposited in the gutter and on the pavement. She wasn’t part of any litter picking group, and she hadn’t got any equipment with her. Yet there she was, tidying up the streets of our town. I felt a deep sense of respect and admiration for this 80-something-year-old. It made me think what a thankless job she was doing. Did anyone notice her cleaning up the area where we lived? Did anyone appreciate her efforts? I thought she was beautiful and bowed down to her in my heart. It is sometimes the small, unnoticed actions of people that contribute to the greater well-being of the whole.
LITTER PICKER
She was thin and frail.
Bones like chicken legs.
Any fat had worn away
From surviving life.
Holding a plastic bag
She stopped now and again,
Bending slowly, one hand
Resting on a crooked knee,
While the other picked up litter.
She put it in her plastic bag
Before carrying on to the
Next flattened drinks can and
heap of crisp packets.
Her little face, each crevice
A story of love, fear and sorrow,
Was cupped reverently
By a thin blue head scarf.
She stopped now and again,
Looking back at the gutter
Where she had just cleared.
I wondered what she thought.
If she found purpose in clearing
Up this little patch of street.
If anyone told her, “Thank you.”
Thank you for reading.
All my love,
Vickey.
We all should be doing this.