The Last Straw
A poem for my fellow planet dwellers
My fellow planet dwellers,
lest we forget, it’s not fair to the turtles
They might choke on them and got stuck,
remembered only by death in the ocean ripples
Get yourself the glass ones, they’re only a buck
Glass,
like those flickering in landfills, stuck between the gum
and the teeth of our earth’s soils, thrown by some
men who don’t give a fuck, wiping their jaws
with paper napkins, residing in Santa Claus’
bad list,
then sent straight to hell with nothing, only
a plastic bag that does not disintegrate
Single use, but strong enough to carry
all of their ecological sins, separate
far, far away
from those sitting in thrones, fingers long
with which they play those puppets on strings,
longer still but no more than the trails their vomit
left upon the water, keeping it warm like blanket
Warm like tea,
soothing and sweet, nectar-like liquid
faster still than my fellow dweller’s quick wit
those same long fingers pointed at my fellow
dwellers’ faces, weary and drained and hollow
like the cave,
from which we should have never escaped
Our time and energy have all been misplaced
Look at the harm we’ve undeniably caused!
But at least now we don’t use plastic straws
