listen to a fork on the road,
a dork on the road
a log, was part of a stump,
cut in pieces, left as a rump
million bottles of plastic, rubber dump
thousand refuse sites, garbage jumps
more and more,
more landfill, more to store
future generations,
your future so sore, let’s ignore
this subject so bore,
talk about beauty and glamour
parties and clamour,
for each new product, to throw the old
where, which way, on street,
in what fold, more and more sold
and we are just told,
it is going to be fine,
here is some wine,
I recommend a beautiful place to dine,
they only serve fresh,
any food what is left,
will be not be kept,
goes to a trash
ironic, isn’t it, hash and rehash,
all stories, still they end up in a stash
pilling up, one by one, filing up,
apparently the only reusable
place on this terrain, humble brain
Perhaps one day that become disposable,
human dose-able, with daily intelligence,
throw away your useless thoughts,
apparently they are not polluting,
ignoring what is best,
for next generation and the rest,
we, the self proclaimed lords of this universe,
miserably failing that test,
left in the mouth ignoble taste
Nothing can be undone in haste,
takes time to change behaviours,
million thousands saviours
are required before even first green shoot comes out,
Earth smiles again, the mother who has lost all her
conscientious daughters, valiant sons,
to unnecessary violence and million guns,
can see the revolution, and final resolution to all ills,
annihilation still, being too late, tempting fate’s ironic hand
