Inspired by a poem by Nicola Field, "steam control"

Mothers

All over the car park
In front of the flats
A pitbull terrier
Spits foam, disembowels
An old yellow sofa.

His owner's a man, standing by,
Chatting.

People have chucked mattresses, orange peel,
Bits of bike and a burnt-out Fiesta,
Over the wall,
To where the foxes lick their cubs.
The council has put repairs on hold
Pending the Regeneration.
But still, (and of course,
I wouldn't say this to anyone other than you),
Didn't their mothers teach them anything?