Take Your Rubbish Home
He spat it out a blob of white
Our eyes followed its trajectory
It sailed and arched like a sneeze caught in the wind
Before hitting the ground
And glue-like stuck fast there
Beside my shoe Ugh
A sight on the ground
“What the hell”! The others cried outraged
“It tasted bad, in my mouth” he smirked
“Where should I put it?
Under my desk
“It wouldn’t stick under your feet there,” he sneered
“It gets snagged in the cleaners’ hands,” they shot back
Take your rubbish home. Stop spreading filth
He shrugged, uncaring it seemed
Despite their disgust of him
And spat again
I left him there
Too enraged to say anymore
Except
Over my shoulder I shouted loudly
“Take your rubbish home you slob.”
Gemma Hill 2019©
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