[Sorry about this; I have a bee in my bonnet about senseless pollution and disposable goods.]
used to like the scent
of gasoline
on a warm summer day
watch it slosh around
as the guy rhythmically
pumped it up
into the glass cylinder
I’d pull on a stalk of timothy
August grasshoppers
sawing off a long hot afternoon
of childhood
no more
human rhythm gone
machines pump fuel
invisible impersonal
digits click off the price
and
cost is machines
spewing toxins for
on-time delivery
of off-shore disposable
toxic oil-derived plastics
and machines
spewing toxins for
the selfish convenience of
drive-thru pickup of
heart-stopping
fast foods
and machines
spewing toxins for
the inconceivable
indulgence of
individual commuting
through stressful
hours of grid-lock
footprints of our machines
are our footprints
