Ancient oceans harboured the flocks of them,
carpets of green and clouds of light and dust.
Buried they were under a mountain’s hem,
sleep in the heat of darkness now they must.
Ageless slumber and then the drills attack,
coming to rape and leech the earth’s entrails,
boring deep holes with just a bit of frack;
let’s pump the oil, until the business fails.
Chemical torture warps and twists the grease
and pristine milk is poured into the moulds.
Armies of sterile beauties march with ease,
to conquer millions of fast-food joints.
Maybe they plot to take over us soon,
wouldn’t you rather use a metal spoon?
Written primarily for a thread in a Goodreads group, asking for a poem inspired by “plastic spoon.”