Like penguins on an ice floe we would stand
in line then swallow it down like sharp sand.
There was something about irrigation,
farming, but mostly the irritation
of colouring the coasts blue and green for
the land, my crayons on another tour
of the globe. They scrubbed around the shore line
of Europe, then the whole world by lunchtime.
All neatly reduced down onto A4.
Those pencils racked up air miles by the score.
But such a mindless task unleashed huge floods
on seaside towns where painted houses stood.
With each wild swipe of our brutal hands we
could bring life to deserts, unplug the seas.
No comments:
Post a Comment