Monday, August 2, 2010

Our Sweet Fossil Fuel Dreams

The trip to the corner store

Key ignition to shorten shuffle step

Could you feel the drill?

Pulsing through the surface

Pulverizing rock and dirt into specks of dust


The bus ride home

Did it taste like salt?

Did it cover you in black?

A dark blanket wrapped around

A casket carved out of delusions


The bottled water sitting on your desk

Is it reminiscent of a quiet failure

Or the roaring explosion that took 11 lives?

One that quickly dwarfed Alaska

Swallowed the world in its horror


How about that plane ride to New Orleans?

Could your selfish eyes see the 1,866 dead birds?

Did you pay the extra fare?

Not for baggage

But for 463 slaughtered sea turtles?

59 dead sea mammals?


Drill baby

Drill

That is our mess that is making the sea a little less pretty

So much more than an eyesore

Our cute little secret hidden in our closets

Our cognitive dissonance that was rude enough

To awaken us from our sweet dreams

That candle

That lighter

That car

Those are OUR failures

It is our criminal fingerprint

Embedded in the oil

Not Obama's

Not BP's

Ours

And we will not be able to wipe it away any time soon

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