Percussive plastic cups,
Drummed by rods of rain;
Those vessels of steam blown sups,
Littering our tarmac terrain.
Mementos of Ronald or Nero,
Starbucks and Coffee Express.
Permanent reminders of heroes,
Giving no fucks for nature’s next mess.
Drive through road warriors abound,
In their caffeine stimulated inertia.
Polluting immediate surrounds,
Based on ‘what you can’t see can’t hurt you’.
Fuming particulates corrupt,
Expanding holes in the ozone layer.
Evidenced by damn plastic cups,
Being pissed on by a drummer ‘up there’.