Cans

I’ve got a long-handled litter-picker. Some things are unpleasant and I want to keep as much distance between them and me as possible. Cans are usually okay though, and they’re everywhere – stuck in green hedges, blown by the wind along the pavement, tossed into the road, flattened by cars. Lager and beer, even gin and tonic. People discard them before they’re even empty. I turn them upside down before I put them in my bin bag. I used to drink now and again, but not anymore.

Condoms

I ignore them, unused or not. It took Duncan and me so long to conceive.

Food containers

I meet two types of people on my route around Tear Drop Lakes – those who smile and thank me for volunteering, and those who look away and say nothing. I wonder if the ones who’ve dropped litter feel uncomfortable. Probably they don’t, because there’s always more to pick up. It’s never ending, like grief. ‘Silly woman,’ they think. Burgers must be everyone’s favourite food. I pick up so many greasy empty boxes. Max said he’d get a takeaway for us, and Duncan shouted, ‘Let’s have burgers!’ I laughed and said to Max, ‘Dad would be happy eating burgers every day.’

Vapes

They come in so many shapes, colours and sizes. And flavours. Today there’s strawberry, cherry, and mango. And pomegranate, Max’s favourite. Sometimes, when I’m doing the housework, I think I detect the faintest aroma.

Black plastic motorcycle mudguard

It’s lying in the grass, a stone’s throw from Chaffron Way. What’s it doing here? I debate whether to take it or not because it is heavy. There’s room for it in my bag, so I take it. Max was coming back from the burger place. The signal changed to green at the junction but as he drove off, his bike was hit by a white van.

Glass bottles

The driver was over the limit. A teenager without a licence in a stolen van, girlfriend in the passenger seat clutching a vodka bottle. He drove through that red light at high speed and Max didn’t stand a chance. Driver and girlfriend survived the crash.

Blister packs

Lots of them, a few stippled with pills untaken. So much pain. So many people needing help to get through the day. Duncan is still on antidepressants and blames himself terribly. He so wishes he’d never shouted ‘Let’s have burgers!’ and changed our lives for ever. I blamed him too, at first. But I’m trying not to now, I really am. Litter-picking helps. It gets me out of the house each day. There’s fresh air, ducks on the water. The doctor said, ‘I’m glad you’re off the medication but don’t let this litter-picking become obsessive.

Lottery scratch cards

I lose count of them, torn into pieces, scattered on the redway and the grass verges. As they make their way home, how do people feel when they find they’ve lost out again? Angry? Bitter? Disappointed? Resigned? I pick up all the pieces.