This has got to be one of the worst things you can teach your child

This week, poet and artist Frieda Hughes observed a young girl littering on the streets – an act celebrated by her parents

CHEWING GUM

The seven-year-old, her long, blonde hair ponytailed neatly,

Opened her small mouth, as fragile as a butterfly, as if to speak.

On her bottom lip she balanced a pale green drum of chewed gum.

Robust in its elasticity, firm in its consistency,

Unable to decompose or atrophy to the point of oblivion,

It was made to last for as long as a jaw can masticate

And the earth revolve around the sun.

From a short distance, a man, woman and two teenagers,

Smiled back at their young one as her lips parted

And the pellet of gum fell to the pavement

Where it stuck, tenacious as a synthetic slug,

Her teeth marks fresh, her spittle still glistening on the indentations,

Denoting ownership. As I walked past

She stepped over it. There was no accusation or remonstration,

She was uncorrected by anyone. It was as if

She was learning litter as a way of life. Ahead of her stretch years

Of tossing tin cans out of car windows, crisp packets

Into the swell of our garbage scow rivers,

Bottles into fields of sheep and municipal herbaceous borders,

And sticking gum beneath every seat she ever sits on.