Take back your big green foam rubber ball
and the red one with teeth marks, and the shuttlecock.
Take the leather sandal kidnapped from next door.
Take your chewed KFC packaging,
plus the sachet of sauce, the paper napkin
and the surgical mask you scavenged from the pavement.
Replace the mountain of earth you dug out
from under the roots of our sycamores,
and the panel of fencing you knocked over
on the way to trampling my bedding plants,
snapping off tall foxgloves at the root,
and dragging down my Rosa Mundi.
Go squealing and scrapping in some other garden,
with all your trappings. You have ceased to be cute.
