The trash along the road was thick

Bright cans and bottles made me sick
More paper trash, a plastic cup
No one there to pick it up
Some grass was growing through the pile
Bottles, cans were every mile
Paper blown around until
Pieces covered every hill
Will we clean it? Probably not
A job with trash is not so hot
Service workers will come through
Cleaning up to pay their dues
Slowly poking sticks around
Getting cans up off the ground
Filling sacks and filling trucks
So the county makes some bucks
We won’t clean it, let it go
It’s out of sight beneath the snow
No one sees it until spring
By then we’ll ignore everything